


Zeitgeber

by AspenRising



Category: The Originals (TV), the originals - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, F/M, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Love, M/M, Magic, Redemption, Resurrection, Romance, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-10-31 05:39:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10892844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AspenRising/pseuds/AspenRising
Summary: The ritual magic that came from sex was old and powerful. Perhaps it will destroy the Original family, or perhaps it will be Klaus' last hope as evil descends upon New Orleans.The adventure begins with Klaus imprisoned in the tunnels beneath the city. Klaus is at the mercy of Marcel Gerard, but Marcel Gerard had become a man without mercy. Can Elijah save his broken brother?This is a dark and twisty tale of love, betrayal, trauma, and redemption.Klelijah





	1. A Lack of Empathy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Originals.
> 
> A/N: This contains vague spoilers up to the first few episodes of season four. Also, this is a trigger warning for very dark themes related to violence and non-con. Please take care of your mental health. Pairings are undecided and suggestions in the reviews are always welcome. Enjoy!

 

Zeitgeber

/ˈtsītˌɡābər,ˈzīt-/

noun: a cue given by the environment, such as a change in light or temperature, to reset the internal body clock

Chapter One: A Lack of Empathy

/ˈempəTHē/

Noun: the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.

"Elijah?" Klaus called out into the darkness, but there was no answer. There was no one to save him. How long had it been since Klaus was imprisoned in the cold, dark tunnels below New Orleans? Had it been merely days? Or had weeks passed? Klaus had no sense of time due to torture inflicted by the bone blade buried in his chest. But then, after God knows how long, Klaus heard the echo of footsteps far away in the tunnels. This was the first time someone had come for him. The footsteps grew closer, and with them came the light of a lantern.

"Elijah..." Klaus begged, praying those footsteps belonged to someone kind. He wanted the torture to end. Finally, he saw his captor, Marcellus: the newly created super vampire hybrid with powers that outmatched the entire Original family.

"Hello, Klaus," said a voice so jarringly cheerful that Klaus couldn't help but feel hope. Still, Klaus couldn't respond through the agony of the blade. "It's good to finally see you like this, Klaus."

Klaus didn't respond. His body was bent in pain and he was covered in sweat. "But it's no fun to gloat when you're like this," said Marcel.

In a blur of motion, Marcel's hand sank deep in Klaus' chest and ripped out the blade of bone. Ordinarily, the sensation of having something ripped out of your chest would be quite painful, but Klaus felt a wave of bliss and relief wash over him. As blood hemorrhaged out of his chest, he nearly cried from happiness. The torture was over.

"Thank you, Marcellus," whispered Klaus, "Now we can put all of this nastiness behind us."

Klaus struggled to sit up, but it was a slow process as his weak muscles felt like layers of sandpaper grinding together. Halfway there, a kick to the stomach sent him flying backwards into the magical barrier that trapped him.

"Nastiness? Is that was this is to you? Is that what you call murdering Davina in cold blood? Trying to do the same to me?" asked Marcel angrily. Klaus rubbed the back of his sore skull and successfully avoided mentioning that Davina was already dead. Apparently he wasn't going home anytime soon.

"Marcellus, everything that transpired was all for the good of our family. You know that," said Klaus as he attempted to reason with Marcel. "And you know I never would have killed you…Elijah wasn't in his right mind."

Marcel laughed sharply and the noise echoed though the tunnels. "You know I don't believe that for a second, Klaus. But I didn't come here to argue," said Marcel. Marcel took a test tube out of this pocket and when he opened it, the smell of blood drove Klaus wild. He lunged towards Marcel and the blood, but another kick sent him careening backwards into the barrier once more. "You're pathetic, Klaus. I want to hear you say it."

Even in his weakened state, Klaus remained proud. He scoffed at Marcel, and crossed his arms. "You're so insecure that you would have me debase myself for your ego? I think not."

"Okay then," said Marcel with a hint of a smile. He raised the test tube and tilted it ever so slightly. A few drops of blood fell to the floor, and Marcel promptly smeared the blood into the rocks with his muddy shoes. "That's all you'll get for the next few days. And just so you know, this has nothing to do with insecurity. I just want to teach you a lesson in humility."

And with that, Marcel was gone. The sweet smell of blood lingered even after it had become a dry and crusty stain on the floor. Klaus lasted 26.2 hours before he lunged forward and dragged his tongue across the dried blood. The sweetness was marred only slightly by the taste of dirt. Unfortunately, the few drops of old blood did nothing to sustain him, and Klaus realized that he had in the end, debased himself for nothing. A king did not grovel, let alone lick the floor for leftovers. He was just glad that no one had seen him succumb to that moment of weakness. Days passed as Klaus drifted in and out of consciousness. He was almost happy when he heard footsteps approaching once more.

"It looks like you enjoyed your rations, Klaus," said the annoyingly cheerful voice of Marcel.

Klaus didn't reply, because he could already smell blood. He just couldn't see where it was hidden until a blood bag flopped down in front of him. It had to have been a trick, because it was too good to be true.

"What is this? Laced with vervain? Cursed?" asked Klaus.

"Oh no, it's just a reward for playing my little game," said Marcel. "I wanted to see the great King Klaus humiliate himself like a dog searching for scraps." He laughed as Klaus scowled.

"I just didn't think you'd go through with his. How did the bottom of my boots taste? I made sure to walk through the dirtiest districts in town before coming to see you."

Anger burned in Klaus, not so much because of what Marcel had done, but because Marcel was taking so much pleasure in the game.

"Well, there is dignity in survival, Marcellus. No matter the cost," said Klaus. He quickly drained the blood bag before Marcel could take it away. He could feel the life rushing back into his bones. His eyes became clearer and he could see that Marcel wasn't happy. "What?" asked Klaus as he rolled his eyes, emboldened by his new sense of strength. "Are you still angry? Like I said Marcellus, survival at any cost is what kept this family together. And like it or not, you are a part of this family. And of course, I will forgive-"

Marcel blurred past the magical barrier, grabbed Klaus by the throat, and slammed him into the ward. Marcel held him there as his eyes turned blood red.

"We are not family, Nicklaus, and my name is Marcel now," he growled. "If we were family, then Davina would have your like family too." His grip tightened around Klaus' throat as he lifted the original higher. Klaus gasped and clawed at Marcel's hand in an instinctual response to the restriction of his airways. And suddenly, he fell back to the floor to gasp for breath that he did't need. Still, Klaus was enraged by Marcel's newfound ability to treat him, the Original Hybrid, like nothing more than a mere human. He felt weak, but that didn't stop him for fighting back.

"Davina…" Klaus started as he struggled to his feet, "…would never be family, Marcellus. She was just a whore of a witch who couldn't get enough of our family. First you, then Kol. Who would have been next? She wasn't my type, but if she had asked-"

A fist collided with his jaw, and he felt it pop out of place. The pain was nothing compared to the torture of the bone blade, and so without hesitation, he returned the blow. Klaus uppercut Marcel's jaw hard enough to send Marcel ten feet into the air. But as Marcel fell back down, he used the inertia to pummel Klaus into the stone ground. Marcel couldn't be beaten now. Klaus groaned as he popped his jaw, collarbone, and vertebrae back into place. He was going to try one more time, but then he felt Marcel's weight pinning his hips to the bedrock. Then a blow to the face that knocked out two teeth. Another blow that cracked his cheekbone. Another that took away his hearing in one ear.

"Davina was not a whore," said Marcel with a deadly quietness after the beating was over. "She was like a daughter to me, a bond you should have understood."

They both caught their breath as time ticked on. Klaus healed slowly but soon he was back to normal. When the pain subsided, he glowered up at Marcel.

"Get off of me, Marcellus," said Klaus. "I didn't mean to insult the dead, but you should honestly let her go."

Marcel didn't respond as he stared down at Klaus. The original was frail with hunger and blood was covering half of his face. Still, a foreign feeling swept over Marcel. It was a sense of coming into adulthood. Even though he was centuries old, he had bested his sire in nearly everyway. The power was intoxicating. The smell of Klaus' blood added to that high as he felt his fangs protrude. He couldn't bite Klaus without killed him, but the blood was just sitting there, pooling in the nape of Klaus' neck. These hungry thoughts took over Marcel as Klaus watched with deep apprehension. He believed that Marcel was going to bite him and leave him to die in these wretched tunnels. The incurable venom would lay waste to his body, and then his family would die as well. Klaus knew everyone was counting on him, and so he started to struggle, but Marcel was like a rock statue above him. Marcel pinned Klaus' arms and sank forward. Klaus bellowed as he expected to feel deadly fangs sink into his carotid artery, but he only felt Marcel's lips. He only heard the sounds of slurping as Marcel cleaned the blood off of his collarbone.

"I see why your father hunted you," said Marcel nonchalantly. "Originals taste…different…"

To Klaus' horror, he felt Marcel's pants stiffen against his stomach. Blood sharing between vampires was intimate, and Klaus had rarely allowed it outside of healing those with werewolf bites. Klaus shifted his weight to lessen the pressure against his stomach.

"My God, Marcellus, get up and stop this nonsense," said Klaus with growing unease. "You're crossing a line."

Marcel wasn't listening. Instead, he punctured Klaus' neck with his fingernail and drank deeply until the wound healed over. At this point, Klaus was lightheaded with blood loss. "Marcellus…" he groaned. "If you're going to desiccate me, at least drink from my wrist." It was awkward and uncomfortable this way. Only lovers drank from the arteries in the neck like this. Fortunately, Marcel grabbed Klaus' wrist, sliced it open at the base, and started to drink. Klaus' arm began to go numb and tingly, but that was the least of his worries. He could still feel Marcel's member pulsating against his stomach. Klaus felt his heart rate skyrocket. Perhaps it was intrusive feeling of Marcel's manhood so close to him, or the vulnerable feeling of being of trapped beneath another man, but he began to panic. As he panicked, his mind went to a dark place, far away and long ago. Klaus used the last of his energy to tear his wrist out of Marcel's grasp, and but his memories had already transported him back to Mystic Falls over 900 years ago. It was a time when he was still human, still young and naive. Instead of Marcel's body, Klaus felt his father's weight crushing him into the prickly bed of leaves on the forest floor. As Marcel snarled when Klaus retracted his arm, Klaus instead heard his father bellowing depraved, sexualized insults.

"Please father, stop..." begged Klaus in his trauma and pain induced daze. "I'm your son...it's not right...please..." And then Klaus returned to reality.

Marcel was motionless under the weight and implication of Klaus' accidental plea. Klaus felt the last of his blood rise to his cheeks in sheer humiliation. No one knew what had really transpired between him and Mikael all those centuries ago, and it had been a long time since his nightmares had invaded his daily life. Slowly, Marcel stood up and let him go. There was a strange, indecipherable look on his face. It quickly became burgeoning amusement.

"Is that why you're such a dick, Klaus?" asked Marcel with barely suppressed laughter. "I mean, I knew your father beat you…but honestly, that's fucked up," mused Marcel as he paced just outside the wards. "…the bastard son, Niklaus Mikaelson."

Klaus refused to meet his captor's gaze. This was his darkest secret, and he would rather die than listen to Marcel's conjecture. "And yet," Marcel continued, talking to only himself, "you had the audacity to call Davina Claire a whore…you goddamn hypocrite."

Marcel might have felt empathy for Klaus, who seemed to have been driven to commit great evil after enduring a tragic childhood, but one of those evils had been the murder of Davina Clair. Marcel couldn't forgive that, and now that he found Klaus' ultimate weakness, he felt that he had no choice but to use it against him. And so, with the taste of Original blood still on his tongue, with righteous and vengeful anger, Marcel felt a burning in his loins. It didn't hurt that Klaus' lean body was splayed on the ground before him, with alluring blond hair and vulnerable blue eyes. Above him, Klaus heard the sound of a belt being unbuckled. Klaus nearly retched when he heard this all too familiar sound, but he was too weak to even use his gag reflex.

"Marcellus…" breathed Klaus as he failed to back away from the man he had once considered family. It was apparent now that their bond had become something else entirely. "This isn't who you are, Marcellus. You are not a monster. You are a good man."

"My name is Marcel, now. You don't know me. You don't know what monsters you've created," said Marcel. He stepped forward slowly, coming to terms with how he was going to break the scared man before him. Klaus continued to slide backwards on the floor until his back hit the magic wards.

"Marcel," Klaus conceded, "you've proven your point. Davina shouldn't have died. Punish me with the blade. With any torture you can imagine, just not this."

"Shut up," said Marcel with that same deadly quietness that Klaus would come to fear. Marcel reached down and grabbed Klaus' ankle to drag him back into the center of the circle. He flipped Klaus over onto his stomach and straddled Klaus' lower back.

"Marcel!" bellowed Klaus. His voice cracked. Klaus felt like a child again, at the mercy of a cruel and merciless man. Everything he had done in his life for power and control, it all suddenly felt as if it had all been in vain. He was just as helpless as when he was living in Mystic Falls. He bit his lip as he felt Marcel roughly pull away his pants, exposing his bottom to the cold, damp air. His hair stood on end as he heard Marcel's zipper. He jerked violently when he felt Marcel's manhood on his thigh.

"Please don't do this…you'll never be the same after you do something like this…" begged Klaus. "Even I would never do this. Don't make yourself a monster just to get even with me."

"Stop talking," whispered Marcel, who was staring down at his prey, contemplating whether or not to commit this sin. Images of Davina floated through his mind and his anger surged. Yes, he would. If he had to become a monster to save the world from the worst man he had ever met, then that's what he would have to do. In his mind, this was a just punishment. But if he could have entered Klaus' mind, and really understood what he was about to do to this man, perhaps Marcel would just gotten up and left. It was the greatest evil that he could have chosen. But then again, it was a lack of empathy that had carried them through the centuries, and it was a lack of empathy that would start them on this new path as well. This act would reset everything.

A/N: Thank you for reading! These dark and twisty thoughts wouldn't leave my mind, so I just had to get them out. Let me know what you think! I have a lot planned for this story. ;)


	2. The Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two: The Catalyst
> 
> /ˈkad(ə)ləst/
> 
> Noun: a person or thing that precipitates an event

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you my lovelies for continuing on this journey with me. This is a trigger warning for violence and non-con. Please care for your mental health my dears.

Klaus shuddered as the silence stretched on with his bare bottom exposed to the damp air of his prison. He tried not to contemplate his position with his legs and hands pinned. With his face pressed into ground. Worse was the feeling of Marcel's gaze piercing through his back. Klaus dared not make a sound, as if to fade into the silence and allow Marcel to forget their compromising situation.

"This is for Davina, and everyone you've ever hurt," said Marcel. "You've destroyed so many lives, and this is a small price to pay."

Klaus begged to differ. This felt like the punishment second only to death. Perhaps even worse than death.

"I've changed, Marcellus," pleaded Klaus.

"I've heard that before, asshole. You never change."

Marcel told himself that this was a necessary evil to put Klaus in his place, but a little voice in the back of his mind nagged at him. The voice said to him that this crime was made even more unforgivable by the fact that Marcel was about to enjoy himself. Marcel ignored that voice, and considered himself righteous.

Klaus, on the other hand, went over every moment that had led to this. He thought of every murder and indecent act that had brought Marcel to hate him, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to feel that he deserved this fate. But, despite the murder and cruelty of his reign, Klaus had never – would never – lower himself to rape another person.

"Fuck you," whispered Marcel as he spit.

Klaus grit his teeth as cold saliva splattered on his lower back. Marcel maneuvered his legs between Klaus' thighs and pried his knees apart. Klaus told himself he could handle this. He had done this before. But as he felt Marcel press forward, the resolve melted away and he couldn't help but beg like a small child again. He hadn't felt this way in 900 years.

"Please don't do this, please, I'm begging you," he said, struggling uselessly against the newly created monster. "If you wanted me to grovel, you've won, Marcellus. I was wrong. I was wrong about everything, and I'm sorry. You don't have to do this, Marcellus…"

Marcel didn't answer. He had made up his mind.

Seconds passed, and Klaus felt hesitant pressure against his entrance. Marcel slowly pushed forward, but Klaus was rigidly tight and dry. Determined, Marcel bucked forward sharply and forced his way inside. Klaus jolted forward into the stone, but there was nowhere to go and the only option was to endure the pain and fullness. The physical sensation was nothing compared to the despair he felt. Shame was added to the mix as he heard Marcel exhale in a way that sounded like thinly veiled pleasure. Marcel grew even harder inside of him, and then Marcel started to move.

Having taken neither a man nor a woman in this way, Marcel was lost in the tightness that surrounded him. Primal lust replaced his vengeance and his righteousness.

With every thrust, Klaus grunted in discomfort as Marcel groaned in pleasure. Marcel increased his pace and Klaus felt his insides tearing as he was split open. The wounds healed and the blood reduced the friction, but Marcel had a speed and strength unlike anything the world had ever seen. The intensity of his thrusts increased until Marcel's hips were a blur of motion, until Klaus' healing could no longer keep pace, until Klaus' screams could have surely been heard in all of New Orleans had it not been for the magic that cloaked them. This went on for what felt like hours. Klaus eventually stopped screaming. Everything was lost in a cloud of persistent motion, agony, and shame. He preferred the hell of that blade.

Then, the thrusting stopped, and for a nanosecond, Klaus mistakenly thought Marcel had come to regret his actions, but then reality sank in. Marcel, buried deep inside of Klaus, let out a primal groan as he threw his head back and came deep inside of his prey. Klaus cried out, disgusted by the wet feeling inside of him. It should have been over, and yet, Marcel did not remove himself from Klaus. Marcel simply collapsed in a crushing heap on top of Klaus.

He breathed heavily in Klaus' ear, a familiar sound that sent shivers down Klaus' spine. It should have been over, but the pulsating manhood in his ass was a cruel reminder and a persistent violation. Klaus couldn't move. He couldn't speak, and so he just started to cry as the reality hit of what had just happened. Marcel had raped him, the great Niklaus Mikaelson: patriarch of the original family, sire of hybrids, and former king of New Orleans. Now reduced once more to nothing but a common whore. And his life had come full circle.

Tears ran down his cheeks and swirled with the blood from his once broken bones. Klaus couldn't help but start to shake, and this was somehow enough to move Marcel.

"God, you're actually crying?" asked Marcel as he pulled out of Klaus and rose to his feet, leaving the broken man on the floor. "I told you that you were pathetic, but you wouldn't listen...I want to hear you say it."

Klaus quieted himself. He didn't want to give Marcel the satisfaction, but what would happen if he didn't play along? He couldn't go through that again.

"Wasn't this enough, Marcel?" Klaus whispered into the floor.

Marcel nudged Klaus with his foot and turned the man onto his back. Klaus' clothes were soaked in the blood that had pooled under his pelvis and stomach. A scraped bruise was healing on Klaus' cheek where his face had been rubbed raw against the stone. Marcel almost felt a twinge of guilt, seeing someone he had loved once in state like this. But then Marcel remembered Davina, and quickly pushed that guilt down into the depths of his unforgivable soul.

The men locked eyes. Marcel's heartless black gaze and Klaus' bloodshot stare.

"You win," whispered Klaus. "I'm pathetic. I'm wrong. I'm evil. My father made me his whore, and now you've made me yours. Are you happy now?"

Marcel thought for a moment, before he scratched his chin and nodded. "Yes…yes I am."

And with that, he walked away and left Klaus alone in the dark.

Klaus curled into a ball and wished for death. He thought of how his father would laugh if he could see his bastard son like this now. He thought of how disgusted his brothers would be to find him in this sorry state. He thought of how he was glad that Camille was dead because she would never be able to look at him the same way again. And he hated himself for being grateful that Camille was dead. But he hated himself more for hoping he would never see his daughter again, because then she would never have to be ashamed to have a father like him.

Klaus waited for Marcel's footsteps to disappear before letting out a wail of grief so powerful and sincere that it rocked the foundations of New Orleans. Although Klaus did not posses magical abilities, the pure and unadulterated emotion sent forth a burst of energy so potent that it penetrated the veil between worlds. The wave of energy cut through the domain of the ancestors and shattered a prison holding a terrible evil. The piercing of the veil between worlds allowed quite a few travelers back into the world of the living. But those were stories that would unfold later on.


	3. The Doldrums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> /ˈdōldrəmz,ˈdäldrəmz/
> 
> Noun: a state or period of inactivity, stagnation, or depression

With one sweeping blast of energy, the veils between worlds were momentarily ripped apart. Quite a few souls were released that night.

First, an old and ancient soul with a need for vengeance stepped through. There was more to be done in the land of the living.

Elsewhere in the void, a small child crossed over as well. The child was drawn by hope of company. He had been alone for so long.

Then, two sisters who knew this day would come.

And many others.

Close behind them all, a blue light followed quickly and quietly.

-

"What was that?" asked Elijah as the earth shook beneath his feet. It didn't make sense that a dream world would come with earthquakes. The shaking grew stronger and the light of the sun flickered like a strobe light. "Freya!" he called from the garden.

Freya ran out of the fading house and stared like a deer in headlights.

"I don't know what's wrong!" she cried. "My magic is draining."

"Is someone waking us up?" asked Kol as he ran out to join them. He looked happy for the first time since their arrival, and it broke her heart. Freya's protective, sisterly instincts kicked in.

"I don't think so, but it's probably fine." Freya struggled to find a suitable explanation that wouldn't scare her younger brothers, "…it's probably my magic replenishing in a natural cycle."

The happiness drained from his face Kol looked scared. He knew enough about witchcraft to know that Freya was lying. He had already died so many times, and he didn't want to go back to whatever afterlife awaited him this time. "Not again. God, don't let me die," he pleaded to no one.

Freya put an arm around him, but he pushed her away. He hadn't forgiven her for Davina's fate, and so Kol turned his back on Freya for the hundredth time. Hurt flickered across her face.

"Fear not, brother, it will be alright," said Elijah as he approached them and rested a hand on Kol's shoulder. Kol seemed to breathe slower under the weight of his brother's hand. It was rare that Kol showed his soft side, and although it only happened in times of extreme duress, it warmed Elijah's heart to remember the sweet child he used to watch over in the forest.

"Freya, find Rebekah," ordered Elijah. He wouldn't lose anymore family to unwelcome surprises.

The earthquake stopped as Freya returned with an equally shaken Rebekah. But before she could speak, a horrible wind began howling through the gardens. There was something painful and unnatural about the wind that pierced their ear drums. They held their heads and fell to their knees as the howling intensified. And then, just as quickly as it began, the howling ended.

"What was that?" murmured Freya as she helped Rebekah to her feet.

They looked around. Everything in the garden had died. Roses were grey, and the trees had lost their leaves.

"Nikluas," whispered Elijah, feeling as if something inside of him had died as well. "Is it possible?"

Freya's face was solemn. "Perhaps, because we're linked to his life, we may be able to feel some things that he feels."

"He needs us," said Elijah.

"Then we have to get out of here," said Rebekah. She felt helpless and guilty, having played such a large role in the imprisonment of her brother. It was what Nik wanted, but what if it had gone horribly wrong? "What if the torture is too much for Nik?" she panicked, "I'll never forgive myself."

Then Rebekah paled as she realized one possible explanation for Klaus' grief. "What if Marcel hurt Hope?"

They were wrong, but it was enough to stir up a deep rage in the siblings. Unanimously, they plotted a way to kill Marcel as soon as they were free.

-

In the real world, one man was going to find out exactly what had gone wrong.

The witches of New Orleans had been foaming at the mouth trying to figure out what had temporarily disrupted their connection to the ancestors. Anything that powerful must have been dangerous, and anything that dangerous had to be destroyed. As regent, Vincent Griffith was tasked with figuring out exactly what had gone wrong. And it seemed that anything that threatened the witches often started with the vampires. Therefore, Vincent found himself trespassing in the territory of Marcel Gerard: Vampire King of Kings, Slayer of the Witches and Originals alike.

Although Vincent privately celebrated the end of the Mikaelsons, even assisted in Klaus' imprisonment, Marcel would slaughter him instantly if he knew that Vincent was going to check on Niklaus in secret. At first, Vincent had scoured New Orleans with locator spells, looking for any blacklisted witches powerful enough to effect the magic in the city. And then he remembered Davina, the little witch who had helped Marcel kill her own people. Of course, bad things often started with Vampires, and so why would this time be any different?

Vincent narrowed down the search and looked for magical disturbances in Marcel's territory. What he found was a hotspot of energy in a rather suspicious place. The blood on the map had pooled in the exact area where Vincent had trapped Niklaus Mikaelson.

"Well shit," he muttered to himself. This was perhaps the worst possible discovery that he could have made. Vincent knew he had no other choice but to investigate. Anything coming after Klaus had to be dangerous. And it definitely didn't belong in his city.

Vincent prepared for his mission with dark objects and talismans of protection and stealth. He hoped that his wards hadn't broken down enough during the disruption to let Klaus escape. He also brought a blood bag just in case the vampire needed incentive to answer his questions. With that, Vincent set off into the darkness of the underground.

As he crept through the tunnels, he felt the magic of his wards pulsating in the distance. He thanked the ancestors that they still seemed strong. But then something else caused a tingling on the back of his neck. It was something dark, and something powerful. Vincent stopped walking as the waves of despair poured over him. It was the sensation of utter nothingness and hollowness that almost brought him to his knees before he raised his psychic walls. Whatever this was, he had never felt anything like it before. Taking a breath to steady him self, Vincent trekked on until he heard a quiet, yet unmistakable voice.

"Hello," called the raspy, dry voice of Niklaus Mikaelson.

Vincent didn't respond, but felt relieved that whatever had caused the disturbance had not been able to kill an Original. That was a good sign. It also meant that the vampire was probably alone. Another good sign.

"If you're here to rape me again, Marcellus…it would be much appreciated if you would just get it over with…instead of just lurking there in the shadows," called Klaus in the distance. The shaky tone of fear was evident beneath the bravado.

Vincent was shocked and appalled. He suddenly knew exactly what had caused the disruption in the magic, and it sent coldness through his body. The magic that came from ritualistic sex was old and powerful. But the magic that utilized rape was dark indeed. Vincent took one last deep breath and walked around the final bend of the tunnel, bracing himself for what he was about to encounter.

Facing away, a nearly desiccated Klaus was curled into a ball on the ground. His pants had been discarded outside of the wards where Klaus couldn't reach them. Dried blood and semen caked on the man's thighs, and blood had dried in a large, imperfect circle on the floor. Klaus shook briefly before regaining control.

"Do not torment me like this, Marcellus," rasped Klaus as tried to turn around, "just get on with it you sick bastard!"

And as Klaus turned around, the men locked eyes. Vincent felt a deep sense of shame for not only witnessing this atrocity, but for also allowing it to happen with his very own wards. Klaus almost looked relieved and the last of his blood created the ghost of a blush on his cheeks. Vincent looked away quickly, knowing that no one deserved to be seen like this. Vincent then did the only thing he knew to do. He tossed the ripped pants to Klaus, along with the blood bag he had intended to use for his own gain.

Klaus looked between his pants and the blood bag, deciding between dignity and survival. Slowly, achingly, he slipped into the pants inch by inch while Vincent stared at ground. Then, only as he managed to button himself up, Klaus finally sank his teeth into the plastic and drank like a deprived animal. Still, Vincent did not turn around. He didn't know what to say.

"Thank you," whispered Klaus.

Vincent turned around to see that Klaus curled back into his original position. He was surprised that the man hadn't begged to be let free. Perhaps Klaus didn't believe that Vincent would allow that. Would he allow that? Vincent grappled with the idea of letting loose a murderer just because that murderer had suffered so much. Hadn't Vincent wanted Klaus to suffer in the first place?

He came to a decision, raised his hands, and began to chant.

This would never be okay with Vincent. He did not hold with rape.

"Briser les murs, briser les murs, briser les murs, briser les murs, briser les murs…"

Klaus sat up to the recognizable sound of New Orleans magic. He didn't dare hope that Vincent would set him free from this hell. Vincent didn't owe him anything, but the French was unmistakable. Vincent was breaking down the wards.

When Vincent lowered his hands, Klaus stood slowly and kept his eyes locked on Vincent. Klaus could see Vincent's blood pounding in his neck…he could hear it. He could nearly taste it.

"I'm sorry," said Vincent, standing his ground despite the hungry looking Original that he had just set free. "I didn't know this would happen."

Klaus took one step over the boundary line of his prison and he felt tears burn behind his eyes. His appreciation was stronger than his hunger.

"Thank you…" he whispered for the second time. This time, the emotion bubbled into his voice and his throat closed. "I won't hurt you now, Vincent. I owe you a great debt. But I will kill you if you ever tell a soul about what you saw today."

Vincent noted the mercy. Klaus could have killed him then and there. The act of kindness had come from a broken man, so Vincent wasn't sure that it would last, but he acknowledged the significant of the character development.

"Let's get out of here," Vincent said. "I'll give you a safe place to stay."

Klaus hesitated, somewhat shocked by this man's kindness as well. Klaus and the Original family had done nothing but cause Vincent pain. An unfamiliar feeling brewed in Klaus. Was it the feeling of being pitied? Or the feeling of having made a friend? It was a new type of vulnerability that he didn't entirely dislike.

-

Klaus found himself in Vincent's small apartment. It was hardly decorated, but witchy knick-knacks littered the walls. He watched Vincent chant as he set up candles and incense. It was a classic cloaking spell. Klaus felt his anxiety finally dissipate slightly. The entire walk from the tunnels to the apartment, Klaus had kept his head down. Praying to unknown gods that no one would recognize him. Jumping at little sounds and expecting to see Marcel around every corner. He hated himself for being afraid. Who was Marcel to make him feel that way again? But finally, Klaus felt somewhat safe, and Vincent was to thank for that.

"No offense, but you stink and you need to shower if you're going to stay here," said Vincent. "I'll get more blood bags so you don't end up having me for dinner. Oh, and don't leave the apartment or else the cloaking spells won't protect you."

"It seems like you've grown attached," mused Klaus. Dry humor was the only way Klaus knew how to express his gratitude to this man.

"Don't get used to it, Klaus," said Vincent with the hint of a smile.

Klaus almost smiled back, and with that, Vincent was gone to fetch the blood bags. While their companionship had been painfully awkward, Klaus hadn't realized how nice it was to have another person around, and Klaus realized how much he missed his family. How he missed Rebekah's laugh. How much he wanted nothing more than for Elijah to burst into the room and tell him that he would protect Klaus, always and forever.

Tiredness deep in his bones, Klaus pushed these thoughts away and got up to shower. After turning on the water, he made the mistake of looking in the mirror. He saw a gaunt, blood stained face staring back at him. He could almost feel his jaw dislocate and his cheekbone crack. The look of trauma in those blue eyes made Klaus unrecognizable to himself. He knew himself as powerful and strong. The man in the mirror was neither of those things.

Klaus sighed deeply and stepped into the shower. He had already come to terms with the fact that he was irrevocably changed. As he let the warm water run over his body and wash away the physical evidence, he tried to decide who was worse…his father…or Marcel. Both were brutal and unrelenting. Both were motivated by anger and perverse pleasure. Thinking of his father brought a deep sense of self-loathing and disgust. Thinking of Marcel brought grief. His father had never loved him, and he had never loved his father. But Marcel had truly been his best friend. That betrayal hurt him in a way that his father never could. Klaus realized that he had started crying again. He stayed in the shower until the water lost its heat. Only when the chill reminded him of the stone tunnel floors did he find a reason to get up and dry off.

He returned to the main room of the apartment to find Vincent eating fresh pizza, sitting next to a cooler full of blood bags. His stomach growled.

"Um, I didn't know how much you would need…so I stocked up," muttered Vincent, who looked away quickly when he noticed Klaus' bare chest. "I'll get you something to wear besides wet towels."

Klaus, having been naked for weeks, had barely noticed, but he was touched that Vincent was doing such little things for his comfort. Although, he couldn't help but feel humiliated, knowing that Vincent would never have been so kind if Marcel hadn't committed such a horrible act. Klaus changed into sweats and a t-shirt and finally sat down to rip through ten blood bags.

"I've been thinking it over," said Klaus. "I guess I won't kill you, even if you accidentally mention this to anyone."

Vincent hid a smile, and simply nodded. They sat in silence for quite some time. Eventually, Vincent knew it was time to confess his theory about what had disrupted the magic in New Orleans.

"We need to talk," said Vincent. He cleared his throat, clearly preparing for an awkward conversation. "What ever um…happened…between you and Marcel…"

"Spit it out," groaned Klaus as he held his head in his hands to avoid exposing his flushed face.

"Well ah…you and Marcel are powerful creatures created by magic…and Marcel was recently imbued with even more magic after taking that serum…so…"

"Spit. It. Out." Klaus growled, another hint of his old self. The less time talking about this, the better.

"Magic that revolves around sexual violence is old and powerful. Whatever happened between you two…it disrupted magic throughout New Orleans, throughout even the ancestral realm. Something dark was released, and I just can't figure out what it is."

Klaus nodded and scratched his bearded chin. "So that's how you found me. I was at the epicenter."

"Not that it's your fault, of course," stammered Vincent, but a glare from Klaus silenced him.

"I never implied that you thought that," he said coolly.

"But," said Vincent, powering through the awkwardness, "if Marcel finds out that you two were the source of the disruption-"

"Then he'll want to harness that power…and he'll probably increase his efforts to find me tenfold…" finished Klaus. He buried his face in his hands once more and struggled to dampen the anxiety that was squirming around in his stomach. He couldn't go back to Marcel, especially not if Marcel would most certainly rape him again.

"I can't do this alone," said Klaus into his hands. He never thought he would admit weakness by asking for help like this. Everything had changed.

"So we're in this together. We don't want him to fuck with you, and we don't want him to fuck with this city," said Vincent, who took a large bite of pizza after realizing his poor choice of words. "I don't exactly know what we're going to do, but we'll figure it out."

He tried to be brave for the ancient vampire. It was a flipped power dynamic that made Vincent uncomfortable given the context.

They ate their pizza and tried to come up with a solution. Klaus clapped his hands together as he had a thought. His wit was coming back to him as his strength returned.

"Who better to protect this city than the Mikaelson clan?" asked Klaus.

Vincent nearly choked on his pizza.

"They're alive?" he asked with disbelief.

"Of course they're alive," said Klaus with a touch of arrogance, "Freya discovered a way to slow the venom until Hayley could figure out how to save them."

Vincent nodded slowly, feeling an odd sense of pride at being let into the inner circle, but also knowing that this would probably get him killed someday. "Okay, well, you can't go anywhere but…I'll work on it."

Klaus was sure this debt would never be repaid, no matter how hard he tried.

-

Over the next three months, Vincent was gone nearly every day. The two men barely spoke, but ate every breakfast and dinner together. Every so often, Vincent would give him news of the outside world. Marcel had been hunting Klaus ever since he found Klaus missing. Vincent was playing the role of a double agent and pretended to search for Klaus as well. He had managed to convince Marcel that Klaus had escaped during the small window of time when magic ceased to function in New Orleans. Day after day, Klaus heard news of Marcel getting closer to the truth. He eventually became desensitized to the fear.

More mysterious issues were cropping up as well. Friends and families were killing each other in cold blood. Children were missing. New Orleans was on the brink of war as tensions rose.

But tonight, there was good news. Vincent burst into the apartment with a huge grin on his face. This made Klaus smile as well, as Klaus had come to appreciate the man's positivity.

"Hayley and I figured out how to save your family, Klaus," said Vincent.

"You're kidding?"

"I'll be gone for a few days, and then hopefully we'll all be together, ready to protect the city," said Vincent, still grinning, but then Klaus' smile disappeared.

"You'll be gone for that long?" he asked softly, attempting to be nonchalant while betraying weakness. His strange, new friendship had become his only coping mechanism when he woke up sweating from nightmares. Just knowing that someone was in the apartment with him kept him grounded. It helped him remember that someone cared. Still, he knew that this was inevitable. It would be a long three days of loneliness and boredom.

Vincent had left a cell phone with Klaus, and texted him on the third night with good news. His siblings were awake and healthy. By some miracle, they had cured the curse and the toxic super strain of Marcel's venom. Klaus would have been overjoyed, but reality came flooding back. As much as he missed everyone, he was was preoccupied with how to keep his secrets.

Klaus texted back 'Don't tell them' with a skull and cross bones emoji.

Immediately, Vincent replied with middle finger and okay sign emojis.

They felt rather hip, as if they were getting a hang of the whole technology craze.

And a weight was lifted from Klaus' chest. They never had to know about what happened with Marcel. He didn't think they even knew about what happened with Father. Klaus simply felt relieved that he would never see the disgust and disappointment on his siblings faces, but those thoughts were best left un-thought. Slowly, he drifted into a deep sleep.

At first, his dreams were filled with the mystical, glowing objects like the ones that Vincent kept around the apartment. The dream room was airy and light, but soon the walls caught on fire. Klaus tried to run, but his legs were like jello, and the door was melting into the wall. The dream room filled with the scent of blood and smoke. A beast growled in the darkness. Klaus jolted awake and sat up gasping for breath. He reminded himself that his family would be back soon.

But unfortunately, they wouldn't be back soon enough.

"Bad dreams?" asked a quiet voice from the foot of Klaus' bed. In the darkness, Klaus saw the beast of his nightmares before him. Marcellus Gerard.

Marcel leaned against the wall, smug in his glory and his triumph. His white smiled gleamed in the moonlight. They watched each other in silence.

Klaus was frozen. Perhaps he should have run. Perhaps he should have called for help, but who could save him? Where would he run that Marcel couldn't follow? But with all of his options, and every terrible thought that could have been running through his mind, Klaus only thought of one thing. He thought of his family, not specifically that he didn't want them to see this, but that he didn't want Marcel to kill them if they came and tried to fight him. He knew he had to warn everyone somehow. Using his phone was risky, especially if Marcel noticed and used the phone to text his family first.

Klaus knew he had to start a conversation so that Marcel wouldn't hear the buttons of the phone or notice him reaching under the covers. His heart was pounding out of his chest. Everyone was counting on him yet again. It gave him purpose. It gave him bravery.

"You should have bought me dinner first," quipped Klaus, as dark and morbid humor seemed like the best option. He leaned over to reach for his phone, attempting to look nonchalant.

To his surprise, Marcel laughed. "I'm surprised you can make jokes, but you've always been resilient."

"Well I've lived through much worse," he replied sharply.

"I'm sure you have," nodded Marcel.

The conversation ground to a halt. Klaus did't know what to say. After centuries of history, they no longer had anything to talk about. What was Marcel waiting for?

"So, how was your day? How did you know I was here?" asked Klaus as he clicked the power button.

"It was fantastic, and you know, the King has his ways," said Marcel. "A few little birdies let me know about the magical abnormalities on this side of town."

"Ah, using third person now, are you?" muttered Klaus.

Using muscle memory, Klaus begged the universe that he was clicking on the text message app.

"Tell me, Marcellus. why are you here? Haven't you done enough?" asked Klaus.

Marcel checked his watch, and Klaus took this moment to cough and finish his typing mission. Under his blankets, Klaus did his best to text 'he's here' to Vincent without looking.

"You'll find out soon. It's only about 10 minutes till the full moon," said Marcel.

Klaus felt his stomach drop. Full moons meant magic. Magic meant that Marcel knew what had caused the chaos in the magical world.

"You see, I have this little talisman," said Marcel, and he pulled a wooden pendant out from under his shirt. In the darkness, Klaus could barely make out that it was shaped like an ancient fertility symbol. "Can you guess what this does?" He paused for effect, always the showman. "It absorbs ritual magic, old friend."

Old friend. Klaus grimaced.

"You sound as nonsensical as always," said Klaus dryly, pretending to be clueless. "What the hell are you going on about now?" He was holding out hope, but knew that Marcel wouldn't be distracted when the full moon peaked.

"Don't play dumb, Klaus. You're better than that," Marcel chided. "You know, it took me months to find a perverted hedge witch that could explain the chaotic ritual magic we created together. You remember that night, I assume. Good times, good times."

"Perhaps for you," he said through gritted teeth. Rage simmered in Klaus' stomach as Marcel discussed rape so causally.

"So," continued Marcel, "it took some convincing, but after bleeding the witch out, she finally taught me how to use this talisman to drain your energy like a siphon heretic. Isn't that clever?"

Klaus exhaled sharply. Marcel was already powerful enough after taking the serum, but adding the ability to do magic would make him invincible.

"So now it's not about punishment anymore? It's just purely selfish," commented Klaus. "You've hit a new low, Marcellus."

Marcel sneered, "Don't vilify me, you piece of shit. Once I can harness your power, I can protect the people I love. No one like you will ever hurt this city again."

"Haven't you already proven your power?" asked Klaus. "You killed my family. You imprisoned me for months. You raped me. I'm sure you'll be fine without this magic."

Marcel didn't answer. "Time's up," he said.

Klaus backed up instinctively. He knew he was alone and helpless once again. Worse, he knew that his family drew closer to this danger with every mile that brought them closer to New Orleans.

"Get it over with," said Klaus with a hint of courage, knowing that the sooner it was over, the more likely his family would be safe.

"Goddamn," said Marcel with a smirk, "I didn't realize I'd broken you like a house pet. I suppose this will be easy then."

Marcel reached the edge of the bed.

Klaus closed his eyes and waited.

Little did either of them know, a great evil had descended upon New Orleans while they spoke, walking down the streets with a glint in it's eyes. It was coming for them, and it wouldn't be stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ah! Don't you just love cliffhangers? I've had so much fun writing this story. Let me know what you think. Comments, hopes, dreams, life goals? To be continued...


	4. The Evisceration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four: The Evisceration
> 
> \i-ˌvi-sə-ˈrā-shən\
> 
> Noun: to deprive of vital content or force

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning for non-con, but fear not lovely readers. The angst will surely end, and comfort is coming soon. Thank you for your dedication so far!

Far away in the Appalachian Mountains, the Original family had been woken and healed with the help of Hayley and Vincent.

"I thought we would be trapped in that hell for the rest of our lives!" exclaimed Rebekah. She twirled in the real grass and tilted her face back to feel the real moonlight on her skin. "Oh how good it is to be out in the world again."

"It wasn't hell," muttered Freya bitterly. "It was a mansion with gardens and a brook. You could be a little more grateful."

The sisters, both accustomed to being the alpha female in any situation, had not always gotten along in the suspended reality.

"I suppose you're right. Thank you, Freya," said Rebekah in a singsong voice. She was too happy to hold any grudges. It was rare that she was under a sleeping spell without missing major global events or cultural shifts.

Meanwhile, Elijah and Haley were embracing under an old oak tree. He held her tightly, enjoying the smell of the forest in her hair.

"I've missed you," muttered Elijah into Haley's ear. "More than I can say."

Every day, Elijah wondered what struggles Haley must have endured for their family. Every day, he wondered if she had given up on them, or if an enemy had stolen their bodies and killed her. He was so full of love and awe for this brave woman. He pulled away to stare at her.

"You are the epitome of strength, Haley Marshal," he said. "I could never thank you enough for what you've accomplished here today.:

Haley grinned, just happy to see this man healthy and spouting poetry again.

"You know I would never let anything happen to you, Elijah," she said. "Even if that means seeing Klaus again too."

The atmosphered darkened at the mention of his brother's name, despite the well-intentioned joke. Elijah's face fell and he stepped away from her, turning his back on Hayley as he remembered more pressing matters. Although Elijah had yearned for Haley every day, he worried about Niklaus twice as much. His younger brother must have endured untold suffering for months. Who knew what had caused that terrible wave of grief and despair through their psychic link. The guilt weighed on Elijah, even though there was nothing he could have done.

"We must help him…" muttered Elijah. "Did Vincent give word regarding Niklaus?"

Haley shook her head and grabbed his hand for support "Let's go talk with him," she said, but he didn't take her hand. Elijah never seemed to have time for Hayley where Niklaus was concerned.

Elijah left quickly, with Hayley trailing behind him, to where Vincent and Kol were chatting about the magic that Freya had performed to save everyone. Freya had become somewhat of a rock star in the magic community.

"Vincent," interrupted Elijah as he stared down Vincent with an intensity he usually reserved for reprimanding Klaus. That being said, the bad blood between Elijah and Vincent was palpable. The entire family grew silent to listen in to the conversation. "I have two questions. First, why would you help our family after you aided in our destruction? Secondly, how is our brother Niklaus?" With every word, he stepped close to Vincent. "I advise you to choose your words carefully."

"Watch yourself Elijah, I just spent three days on a road trip without air-conditioning. I don't have time for your attitude," said Vincent with his arms crossed and his eye narrowed. He continued, "We have a few problems in New Orleans that need to be taken care of, so Klaus and I made a deal."

Elijah scoffed at the notion. "What on earth makes you think that we would help you after we rescue our brother?"

Vincent grimaced. He hated Elijah's holier than thou attitude. Finally, he said, "Because I know that you keep your word, Elijah, and so will Klaus. We both want to save the city. It's our home."

"A city that has imprisoned our brother for nearly four months is hardly a home," countered Elijah.

"One month, if it matters," said Vincent, "It just took a while to figure out how to save you guys."

Rebekah gasped, "you saved Nik?"

Vincent nodded, mildly flustered by the sudden attention from the pretty blond.

He puffed his chest out a bit and replied, "Klaus has been mooching off of me for three months now, and it's about time you all take him off my hands so that I can have some goddamn peace and quiet," said Vincent with some exaggeration.

"You saved him," purred Rebekah as she pulled Vincent into a crushing hug. Showing love to her dearest older brother was the quickest way to her heart.

Even Elijah seemed to soften.

"Why did you save him?" asked Elijah.

Vincent pulled away from Rebekah, stared at the ground, and coughed nervously. A shadow cast over his face as he remembered finding Klaus in the tunnels. A bloody and broken body. A decimated spirit.

"I just felt like…Klaus had been through enough," said Vincent awkwardly. Then his phone vibrated and he opened the text from Klaus.

'Hhes hwre' read the text message riddled with typos. Ordinarily, Klaus was strict with formality and grammar. It took no time at all for Vincent to realize that Klaus must have sent this message in a hurry. He's here. The words rung in Vincent's mind and his stomach dropped as he realized to whom Klaus must have been referring.

"What is it?" asked Elijah, stepping forward and becoming rather intense again as he noticed Vincent's change in demeanor, but Vincent did not respond immediately.

Vincent struggled with the choices of either bringing the Mikaelson clan to save Klaus from a cruel fate, or with abiding by Klaus' wishes that his family never know what Marcel had done. Vincent quickly deleted his text log with Klaus and cleared his throat. The family would understand. They would save Klaus, and they would stop Marcel from gaining a terrible power. With two adept witches, three original vampires, and one hybrid, they could surely subdue the mutant Marcel for a few moments.

"Klaus is in trouble. We need to get back to New Orleans. Now." Vincent said these words with a sense of urgency that the Originals didn't question, but he knew in his heart that they would be too late. They were ten hours away if they sped the whole way down and never hit any traffic. Unfortunately, he couldn't prepare himself or the others for the disaster that may very well await them in New Orleans.

-

Time was up.

"Aren't you going to try and run? Or are you secretly looking forward to it?" asked Marcel at the foot of the bed.

Klaus felt immobilized under his bed sheets. The covers gave him a false sense of security, as if Marcel could not reach him under the pure white comforter. Of course he wanted to run, but he knew that Marcel was faster. A perverse part of him whispered that it would be better to be taken on a soft, warm bed than to be recaptured in a dark alley somewhere in the slums of the city. He was tired of cold, hard stone. And as he had learned from his father, fighting back made everything worse.

As for the last question, whether or not he was looking forward to his fate, Klaus wouldn't dignify that with an answer. Logically, he dreaded everything happening, but something almost felt normal. As if something in him were saying 'Of course this is happening to you. Did you ever really expect anything more from your life?'

It was the same desensitization from his childhood. The abuse from his father had quickly become a regular facet of his life. He had gotten used to that, so Klaus decided that he would get used to this too.

And so as Klaus breathed deeply to steady himself. He imagined that this was just any other day, and that being dehumanized and used was just a common occurrence, like rain on a spring day. These were coping mechanisms he had used 900 years ago, but they still worked just as well. His heart rate slowed.

"Well at least I'm looking forward to it," said Marcel, breaking Klaus from his thoughts.

"As do most rapists," said Klaus calmly.

Marcel simply smirked.

"Rape is the violation of the consent and autonomy of another person," said Marcel.

Klaus hadn't expected such a logical response response, and wasn't sure what to say.

"You're hardly a person, Klaus," continued Marcel as he began to undress. "You're just a thing that aided in the destruction of everything I hold dear." His shirt fell to the ground. "So in the end, is it really rape?" His pants next. "Are you little more than an animate object without a heart or a soul?"

Klaus frowned and looked away. Perhaps he had lost his humanity too long ago for this to actually matter. If Klaus stopped to think about it, he knew he had killed many daughters. Many sons. But he never truly cared, so maybe he deserved this as penance.

"Fair," said Klaus as he thought back to what he would tell himself as a child; he told himself that he deserved his father's rage for being weak, and now he told himself that he deserved this for growing into a devil of a man.

Masochism came easily to Klaus.

Marcel stepped forward and tore the covers from the bed, stealing away Klaus' one comfort, but Klaus hardly blinked. The light of the full moon flooded into the bedroom, highlighted Marcel's muscle bound body. Klaus felt frail in comparison. Klaus was by no means weak, but his body had always been lean and lithe compared to Marcel's massive form.

"Your turn, Klaus," he said, standing naked in the center of the room without shame. The only thing left was the fertility talisman around his neck. "The ritual only works if our skin is touching. So take off your clothes or I'll have to do it myself."

"Do not bother yourself with such tedious things, Marcellus," said Klaus softly. He spoke so formally, as if to distance him self further from Marcel on yet another level.

Klaus took off his t-shirt first, and sighed before slipping off his pants. He took the odd care to fold his clothing, as had been his habit for a millennium. It was just one more thing that never seemed to change.

"Okay," said Klaus. With a sense of tranquility before the storm, Klaus allowed him self to fall back into the bed. He stared at the ceiling until Marcel was ready. Then, Marcel came forward in a blur of motion. Klaus felt the wind escape his lungs under the sudden pressure of the other man's chest. Marcel spread Klaus' legs with ease and pinned his arms. Without hesitation, Marcel thrust into Klaus. A ripping sensation made him cringe and grit his teeth. He squirmed instinctively, but quickly attempted to relax his body around Marcel's width.

"You could at least use some spit, Marcellus," said Klaus with a strained voice. Blood had begun to stain the sheets from that initial intrusion. Klaus prepared himself for the second thrust, but it never came.

They both jolted as the heard the front door open, with footsteps pounding down the hallway.

Suddenly, the bedroom door exploded from some unseen magical force. Shards of wood flew in every direction like shrapnel on the battleground. One particularly large piece careened towards the bed. Just as Marcel looked over his shoulder, a two-foot piece of splintered wood tore through his heart. The tip of the shard was poking out of Marcel's chest and had just barely grazed Klaus' collarbone.

Marcel desiccated – temporarily of course – and collapsed on Niklaus.

"Bloody hell," Klaus rasped, both from the wood shrapnel that sunk into his neck, and from the disgusting feeling of Marcel shriveling and desiccating inside of him.

In another sudden movement, Marcel's body was lifted off of Klaus' body and thrown into a heap on the side of the room. Klaus groaned in pain as he was suddenly emptied.

Dazed from the extremely brief assault and the wound in his neck, Klaus could barely make out who his savior was. He prayed that it wasn't his siblings, but then he cursed the universe for granting his wish in such a twisted way.

There he was, standing before Klaus with a familiar sneer and a flair for the dramatic, the man who just wouldn't stay dead.

His dearest Viking father: Mikael.

"What in the seven hells…" cursed Klaus. He rubbed his eyes, assuming that he was hallucinating while Marcel fucked him senseless. He blinked twice, but Mikael was still there.

"Aren't you going to thank me, boy?" said the man with a haughty look as he fixed his cuff links nonchalantly.

It certainly sounded like his father. He told himself this couldn't be real, even though there was no other explanation for why his door had blown into a hundred pieces, or why Marcel was currently half dead in the corner. Then again, there was no explanation for his father standing there plain as day either. So he reckoned he might as well go with it.

"I've nothing to thank you for, Father," said Klaus as he quickly covered himself with dirty sheets. Klaus hated to feel exposed before this man, real or not.

" I see. Well, I was under the impression that you were unwilling, boy," said Mikael darkly, "Perhaps I was mistaken, and you've become nothing more than an object for public use. If so, then I would apologize for interrupting your work."

"Of course this was unwilling, you perverse old man," said Klaus with an age old bitterness.

Mikael's eyes glimmered with amusement as he replied "I see you've remained a thankless brat well into adulthood then, Niklaus."

"What would you have me say, Father?" asked Klaus sardonically, "that I'm elated to have you here to witness my humiliation and degradation for what – the fiftieth time? The hundredth? I honestly lost count, so excuse me for coming off as mildly fucking ungrateful."

Klaus spat these hateful words, as old emotion came forth like tidal wave of rage. He really felt crazy now. Perhaps he had passed out and this was just another nightmare. Perhaps he was arguing with himself as he went insane from Marcel draining his magic.

"How the fuck are you here anyways?" asked Klaus angrily as he wrapped the bloody sheet like a toga and stood up to face Mikael. "Are you in my head? Are you a hallucination? Although, I wouldn't be surprised if you were alive. You do have a penchant for coming back from the dead."

"My boy, I am very real," said Mikael. "As alive as any vampire could be, anyways."

As if to prove his point, Mikael picked up a shard of the broken door. Like a javelin, he hurled it at Klaus. Physically weak from blood loss, and emotionally weak from both Marcel and Mikael's appearances, Klaus didn't have the energy to dodge.

The shard of wood speared his shoulder, sent him flying backwards, and pinned him to the wall. Klaus grunted at the excruciating pain and finally accepted that his father had come back to life. Perhaps he would have preferred Marcel.

Hanging from a gaping wound in his chest, Klaus did his best to glower at his father. Although, the way Mikael stared made Klaus feel small and childlike. In a battle of wills, Klaus averted his eyes. He knew better than to test Mikael while he was in a weakened state, and he didn't plan on being assaulted twice in one night.

"Why are you here?" Klaus groaned as he bled out. "Why do you even care?"

Mikael approached his crucified bastard son. Mikael brought his hand up to gently brush the side of Klaus' jaw. Klaus closed his eyes. He no longer had the energy to even flinch. Something had surely broken inside of him.

"My boy," said Mikael quietly, "I've been watching you for months now, ever since Marcel first took you in that dreary prison."

Klaus nearly retched. If this was a nightmare, he'd give anything to wake up.

"When Marcel failed to collect the ritual magic that night," he said, "you harnessed it by accident. Your weakness and your fear called out to me, boy. You yourself brought me back to this world."

Klaus felt bile rise in his throat. Mikael continued.

"And because you brought me back to life, we've been linked in a way…" murmured Mikael as he traced Klaus' healing neck wound. "Whenever your emotions run high," said Mikael as he sank his thumb into the puncture wound in Klaus' chest, making his son gasp, "I can look into your mind. Although I hadn't been able to find you until this scoundrel broke down both your wards and your spirit."

Klaus shivered involuntarily at the intrusive violation of his mind. What else could be taken from him in such a short span of time?

Mikael continued, unabated by his son's pain.

"When I saw Marcel in your mind, when I saw the fun you two had…I must admit that I felt possessive, despite having lost interest in your body long ago," He said with a smirk. Then, Mikael gripped Klaus' jaw with inhuman – invampire – strength. He leaned forward and Klaus felt his breath on his cheek, "Regardless of that fact, I thought to myself, no one else should be allowed to own him in the way that I owned him."

"Go fuck yourself," said Klaus with venom, spitting on Mikael's face.

Mikael slapped Klaus hard enough to nearly break his neck.

"Don't fret, boy," said Mikael as he turned to stare into the mirror of the boudoir. He wiped the spit from his face and straightened his tie. "This was a one time visit. I have more important things to attend to." His eyes glimmered blue in the mirror for only a moment before he turned to look at Klaus again and offered, "But if you ask nicely, boy…I might forget your age."

Klaus felt rage building in his chest, or maybe it was the delirium of blood loss.

"GET OUT!" he bellowed with every last bit of energy in his body. "I can't fucking stand you, you goddamned son of bitch. I will rip your lungs out of your throat and feed them to the dogs!"

Klaus thrashed on the wall, screaming obscenities and tearing into his own shoulder until his vision went hazy.

Unfazed, Mikael looked away and saw that Marcel was waking up. Mikael snapped Marcel's neck before lifted the naked, unconscious super vampire over his shoulders.

"I'll just take this then," said Mikael. He reached around to Marcel's neck and snapped off the talisman necklace. It was glowing. Through his delirium, Klaus wondered briefly if the ritual had been completed. Then, in an instant, Mikael took Marcel and the talisman away in a blur.

Klaus stared out into the dark room, panting and breathing raggedly. He was alone at last. The sheet that had been wrapped around his body fell to the floor in a pool of blood. Klaus groaned and tried to pull the wooden spear from his shoulder. It wouldn't budge. Perhaps he could try to fall asleep like this and forget the horrendous evening. Perhaps, by the grace of the gods, he would never wake up again. Finally, Klaus understood the necessity of the last white oak bullet. He couldn't face this eternity without an end in sight.

Klaus keened as the stress overwhelmed him. Tears of frustration poured down his cheeks. In a way, he couldn't care less that Marcel had broken him again, however briefly, but it was the fact that Mikael had shown up to emotionally and physically eviscerate him as well. The depravation and humiliation of the evening hurt, but what stung more was the constant rejection, hatred, and irrational abuse he had endured from his father for centuries. He had spent ten lifetimes attempting to get over what his father had done, but the trauma had returned, just as painful and just as raw, in the blink of an eye. In comparison, Marcel was insignificant.

"Why me," he breathed as he continued to bleed out from his injury. "Just because I had a fucking whore of a mother…"

Klaus blinked slowly until his eyes finally shut.

"Finn was more of an ass…Kol was prettier…" he mumbled, but he didn't mean it. Deep down, Klaus would do anything to keep his family from experiencing the pain he had experienced. That's why he kept them in boxes, safe from Father, safe from the horrors in the night.

Klaus cursed the world as he realized that state his family would find him in.

In order to cope, Klaus buried those feelings deep down in his soul until he couldn't feel anything anymore, not even the bleeding hole through his chest.

For all he cared, he would never let himself feel anything ever again.

That had worked for quite a few centuries.

Finding peace in the idea that he would block out the world, Klaus slipped away into a deep and restful sleep.


	5. Grand Mal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Five: Grand Mal  
> /ˌɡrand ˈmal,ˌɡrän(d) ˈmäl/  
> Etymology: late 19th century French, literally ‘great sickness’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reworked this chapter quite a few times until I felt satisfied, so I hope you like it, and I hope it’s not too long! Anyways, thanks for reading. Your continued support means so much to me!

The Original Family and Vincent returned to New Orleans as the sun began to rise. Hope was with Hayley, far away and safe so that the little girl would not be in danger of losing both parents all at once. Meanwhile, the Mikaelsons had taken turns speeding down the highways at well over one hundred miles per hour. The panic was heightened by the fact that neither threats nor pleas would get Vincent to open up about what was going on with Klaus or the city.

“Just tell me why you shifted your allegiance,” ordered Elijah for the tenth time during their road trip. “I need to know what we’re up against.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” said Vincent ominously as they whirred past the signs of urban development. He drummed his fingers nervously against the window, careful not to move any other body part lest he wake the sleeping blonde vampire resting on his shoulder. “And honestly, Elijah, I’d rather not risk death by sharing things Klaus doesn’t want me to share.” 

“Your integrity will also get you killed,” said Elijah. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. But Elijah couldn’t think straight, not when it came to his brother. He had a horrible feeling that Klaus was already dead or dying. 

Eventually, after nine tense hours of bickering, death threats, and vague plans for revenge against Marcel, they arrived in New Orleans.

“Where do you live?” asked Elijah through gritted teeth, still on the verge of killing the first person to cross him that day.

Vincent directed them to his apartment in the French Quarter. Finally, as they approached his home, Vincent felt that same sensation of darkness and grief that he had felt emanating from the tunnels. The overwhelming sadness made him stop in his tracks and lean against a light post for support. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Rebekah with a slight frown.

But Vincent didn’t hear her. He worried that Klaus was dead. He worried that Klaus was kidnapped. He worried that Klaus was in the same broken state as when Vincent had first found Klaus in the tunnels. How could he let the Mikaelson clan see Klaus like that? Klaus would never forgive him. 

“Let us in,” demanded Elijah, eager to see his brother, but Vincent couldn’t decide. Maybe he should go up by himself first to check on Klaus.

Suddenly, Elijah grabbed Vincent by the throat and squeezed just enough to make Vincent genuinely fear for his life.

“Invite us in…or I will rip your heart out,” Elijah whispered.

“Eli, stop!” cried Rebekah, but Freya held her sister back.

Vincent gasped and clawed at Elijah’s stone grip. He struggled for breath and stared into those desperate brown eyes. Vincent knew he didn’t have a choice anymore. He nodded frantically before Elijah squeezed harder. Then, Elijah let go, and Vincent fell to the pavement. Rebekah swooped down to comfort Vincent and rubbed his back gently.

“He’s already helping us,” Rebekah snapped at Elijah. “You don’t have to hurt him.”

“Family first, Rebekah,” said Elijah sternly.

“Come in,” Vincent rasped. “Apartment 4B, but the deed was probably already invalidated anyways you psychotic bastard.”

The siblings looked at each other with solemn expressions, and turned to enter the apartment complex.

“Wait,” ordered Vincent between ragged breaths, “one of you should just go up alone.”

“If this is a trap…” started Elijah.

Vincent shook his head and rubbed at his bruised throat. “It’s not a trap,” he said, “but please trust me. Klaus wouldn’t want everyone to see him like this. He’s been…different lately.”

Silence weighed on the family as they tried to decipher Vincent’s vague words. 

“Okay, I’ll go alone,” said Elijah quietly. “Wait on my signal.”

With that, Elijah dashed up the stairs and left everyone behind in morbid anticipation.

As he approached Vincent’s apartment, the smell of Klaus’ blood was powerful enough to make him stumble and catch his breath. Elijah braced himself as he opened the door, but what he saw inside was a relatively normal scene. The apartment seemed to be in order, but the strong stench of blood wafted down the hall. He walked quickly as he saw wooden splinters littering the floor like a trail.

“What is this?” he muttered under his breath, and looked up to see that a bedroom door had been obliterated. “Niklaus?” he called, but there was no answer.

Elijah’s blood pressure skyrocketed. He knew there were only three options with this deafening silence. Either Niklaus was taken, injured, or dead. Panicked by thoughts of white oak or Marcel’s deadly venom, Elijah entered the room without caution. 

“My god,” choked Elijah as he stumbled backwards in shock.

There was his little brother, nailed to the wall like an animal in a butchers shop: naked, bled out, and unconscious. Blood covered one side of Klaus’ body like a waterfall from the puncture wound holding him up. Elijah felt acid rise in his esophagus in conjunction with his level of anger. He wondered how long Klaus had been crucified like that, and how long he had been made to suffer prior.

Elijah took a deep breath to steady his rage, and moved forward to help his brother down. He yanked the wood from both the wall and Niklaus’ shoulder. Niklaus fell forward like a ragdoll into Elijah’s arms, and Elijah carried Niklaus to the bed. 

He sat and cradled Klaus’ head in his lap. Then, Elijah bit down into his own wrist to tear open the veins for Niklaus to drink. The blood the dripped from his wrist was indistinguishable from the already catastrophic amount of blood covering his little brother. Steadying himself with another deep breath, Elijah brought his wrist to Klaus’ dry lips. The blood dripped down Klaus’ throat, and soon Klaus drifted back into consciousness. Elijah felt Klaus’ lips become firmer and softer as they tightened around Elijah’s wrist, sucking the blood from Elijah’s veins in earnest. Finally, Klaus’ wounds began to heal, and his eyes fluttered open. 

Niklaus struggled to take a rattling breath. 

His lung hurt from being pierced for ten hours.

“Brother,” whispered Elijah as he brushed back the blond, sweat soaked hair. “You’re safe now. You’re okay.”

“Elijah?” he asked in a daze, and looked up to see his brother’s concerned and horrified expression. Klaus hoped this was a dream. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this.

“I’m here for you, Niklaus,” said Elijah softly. “We will kill whoever did this.”

“No,” whispered Klaus as he shook his head. Memories of the evening resurfaced. Elijah couldn’t take them on without meeting the exact same fate, but Elijah didn’t understand this, and didn’t reply.

Then, a cool draft on Niklaus’ skin reminded Klaus that he was still very much so naked and exposed. Klaus felt inexplicable shame building in his chest. He felt Elijah’s eyes burning into his skin, and heard his father’s words echoing in his head: ‘nothing more than an object for public use’. His simple nudity felt sexualized and wrong.

“Clothing…” groaned Klaus as he tried in vain to build up the energy to move.

Silently, Elijah slipped off his suit jacket and laid it down over his brother’s midsection. 

“Shower…” said Klaus just as softly as he held the suit jacket tightly to his chest. Wrapped in fine fabric, he felt dirty and pathetic. The silk lining was a stark contrast to sticky feeling of old sweat and blood matted on his chest hair. 

Elijah gently propped Klaus up on the bed. 

“Do you need more of my blood?” he asked, but Niklaus waved his wrist away. He refused to be seen as weak in front of Elijah. He could do this.

Klaus tried to get off the bed, but his legs shook like a newborn deer, and he fell backwards into Elijah’s arms.

“Klaus, if you need help…” started Elijah, but Klaus scowled and grit his teeth. He took a deep breath and tried again. This time, Klaus fell forward onto the floor with a thud. His vision went white with pain as his newly healed shoulder hit the floor, and he groaned while struggling to get up. 

“Fuck,” cursed Klaus into the floor as he rolled onto his side. He tried to lift himself up, but his bloodless bicep gave way. He tried again, hating the cold floor on his skin. “FUCK.”

It was futile. Klaus gave up before his frustration could give way to tears once more, and he curled into a fetal position on the floor. Elijah had watched his proud Niklaus silently, knowing better than to intervene too soon.

“Let me help you, brother,” said Elijah softly as he knelt down behind Klaus to lift his brother off the floor, but then he noticed that something wasn’t quite right. There was blood where there shouldn’t be.

In an instant, Elijah’s heart shattered.

Surrounded by alabaster skin, blood had dried between Niklaus’ inner thighs and bottom.

“No,” Elijah pleaded under his breath. “Not this.”

He bit into his fist to stop himself from crying out. Elijah tried to tell himself that it wasn’t what he thought it was. But the longer Elijah stared as Klaus’ bottom – because shock and denial prevented him from looking away – the more Elijah felt his stomach churn in rage. Klaus, realizing what Elijah must have seen, tried desperately to cover himself.

Without warning, vomit flooded Elijah’s mouth, and Elijah rushed to empty the contents of his stomach into the bedroom trashcan. He threw up until nothing but acid dripped from his lips, and even then he dry heaved for a while longer. When Elijah finally righted himself on his knees, he couldn’t bring himself to turn back to look at his brother.

Klaus simply stared at Elijah with a hardened look on his face. While Elijah had vomited, Klaus had wrapped himself in dirty bed sheets and had managed to sit up in order to watch the show. 

“Niklaus…” started Elijah, but no words came. His grip intensified on the handles of the trashcan until the plastic cracked down either side.

“What. Did. You. See.” demanded Klaus. Dread made his chest feel hollow.

Elijah finally looked over his shoulder to see his brother’s face flushed with anger and humiliation. Elijah averted his eyes, not knowing if he should confess what he saw, or lie to save Klaus the embarrassment. Was this was Vincent refused to talk about?

“I don’t know what I saw,” he whispered, closing his eyes and praying that his assumptions were incorrect. He prayed that no one had raped his brother. “I don’t know.”

“We both know you’re lying,” muttered Klaus.

Elijah didn’t know what to say. He knew he should comfort Niklaus, or at least turn around, but pain kept him rooted in place. 

“Do I disgust you that much now, brother?” asked Klaus, strength building in his voice as the rejection emboldened him. “Am I that hard to look at now?”

“No, of course not,” muttered Elijah, but he still couldn’t look up. He wanted to stay in a world where nothing like this could ever happen.

Klaus felt a deep sadness eating away at him. This confirmed everything he had ever feared: that the depravity would make him impossible to love, that no one would see him as a person anymore, just a thing too dehumanized to interact with, that he would disgust his family for the rest of eternity. That sadness quickly turned into hatred. 

“Leave,” he ordered. ”I don’t want you here. I don’t need you here.”

“Niklaus, I swear to you, I didn’t mean-” stammered Elijah as he forced himself to turn around and stare into Klaus’ angry eyes. 

“Didn’t mean to what, Elijah?” asked Klaus, “Didn’t mean to fall ill at the sight of how another man used my body? No, I get it. Really, I understand. I do. Because I can’t fucking stand myself either…now get. out.”

Elijah exhaled sharply when Klaus said the word ‘used’. It was an unwanted verification. Without breaking eye contact, without offending Niklaus further, tears began to slide down Elijah’s face until he thought the pain would break him.

“I’m – I’m sorry,” he whispered as he cried. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me. I am so, so very sorry.”

The apology hung in the air.

Klaus stared into Elijah’s watering eyes and felt something harden in his soul.

“You’re sorry,” mumbled Klaus, trying to work his mind around this indirect confession of guilt. Niklaus closed his eyes, and Elijah could finally blink.

Niklaus had never blamed Elijah before, not for Marcel nor their father’s abuse, but the apology allowed him to finally blame someone other than himself. He remembered calling out for Elijah in the tunnels while that blade tortured him. Calling out for Elijah before Marcel appeared in the darkness and raped him the first time. Calling out for Elijah as a child while Mikael beat him mercilessly and raped him as well, but Elijah never came. His older brother never heard him.

“You know what? Fuck you, Elijah, and fuck your apology,” spat Klaus.

The intensity of old anger and grief made his blood pressure rise until his vision blurred. It took an extraordinary amount of energy to sustain this level of rage, and soon Klaus felt dizzy as the room seemed to spin around him. 

“Niklaus, it was the injustice of what happened – the inhumanness. I’m sorry,” begged Elijah, fearing he would never repair this divide.

“Don’t be sorry,” said Klaus breathlessly as struggled to stay upright. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m sorry that you were my brother.”

“You don’t mean that,” said Elijah as he moved forward and reached his hand out to Niklaus, but his brother jerked backwards quickly and continued his tirade.

“You’ve been trying to make up for your failures as a brother for centuries. You followed be around like a dog because you felt guilty…but even then, you couldn’t help when I needed you most…not when – not when they…” rambled Niklaus as he swayed, fell to his elbows, and squeezed his eyes shut against the spinning of the room.

Elijah’s tears fell faster when he heard the word ‘they’. What exactly had happened to break his brother like this?

“…and now you betray me yet again with your disgust…” mumbled Nikalus. He was on the verge of passing out now.

“God, Niklaus, no. That’s not how I felt – I just…” said Elijah, but his words weren’t working.

Klaus grimaced and began to speak again, but instead slumped to the floor and passed out from exhaustion.

Released from Klaus’ angry gaze, Elijah shut his eyes and doubled over with his forehead touching the floor. He began to sob and hyperventilate, feeling helpless and angry at whoever did this to his brother. He punched the hardwood floor until his knuckles began to bleed. Eventually, his arm grew tired and his eyes ran out of tears. 

Perhaps it was illogical because there was no way he could have stopped this from happening, but guilt ate away at his insides. He was the older brother. He was supposed to protect everyone, especially Niklaus, who needed it most. He would prove to Niklaus that he could take care of him, always and forever.

Slowly, Elijah let his eyes travel over Klaus’ body. He looked frail and small in the mass of white sheets that surrounded him. His cheekbones were more prominent than before, giving him a gaunt and haunted expression even as he slept. Elijah stared at Klaus until he felt that he could accept the feelings of grief and shock without letting them show in his expressions. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated in the silence, hoping it would reach some deep subconscious within Niklaus, hoping that Niklaus would understand.

“I’ll take care of you, Brother,” he said as he slowly got to his feet, and then bent down to pick his brother up off the floor. He was surprised by how feather light this man had become. 

Elijah sighed, and thought of how to right his wrongs.

Niklaus had mentioned a shower before. If Elijah could do nothing else, he knew he could do that for his brother. By the gods, he would rid Niklaus of the physical evidence of trauma before he woke again.

And so, holding Niklaus close to his chest, Elijah carried his brother down the hall and into the bathroom. 

“Always and forever,” whispered Elijah into Niklaus’ hair as he set his brother down in the bathtub. 

Elijah took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. Elijah gently removed the sheets and suit jacket that covered Klaus’ body, and replaced them with a towel to cover Niklaus’ nether region to preserve a small amount of dignity. Then, he turned on the showerhead and began to rinse the blood from Klaus’ skin. It took nearly fifteen minutes to do this task with water pressure alone. Elijah didn’t want to touch Niklaus while he slept, as it felt like an invasion of privacy. But finally, Niklaus was as clean as he would get.

Elijah took a moment to text his siblings. He opened what he hoped was the group chat, full of mystical shopping lists from Freya, baby animals from Rebekah, and alcoholic beverage recipes from Kol. He had never used this function on his phone before, but suddenly it was quite useful.

‘Niklaus is okay. Please meet us at our old home. We will be with you shortly. Apologize to Vincent for me.’ Texted Elijah.

Then, Elijah bit into his wrist again and tilted Niklaus’ head backwards so that the blood dripped down his throat. Slowly, Niklaus regained consciousness once more.

Klaus jolted violently when he felt the cold porcelain on his skin, briefly reminded of the stone floors of the tunnels and fearing that he had been recaptured.

Elijah put his hand on Klaus’ shoulder until the wild look of adrenaline faded from Klaus’ eyes. 

“It’s alright, I’ve just cleaned you off a bit,” said Elijah with his best attempt at a soothing voice. “I hope that you don’t mind.”

“Why did you do this? Why are you still here?” muttered Klaus as he inspected his clean, wet skin. Then he saw the towel respectfully covering his privates. A deep red blush appeared from his cheekbones to his collarbones. If possible, the redness intensified as Niklaus remembered the horrible things he said to Elijah before he passed out.

“I don’t deserve your kindness,” said Klaus sheepishly.

“I would never let you push me away, especially not when you’re half crazed by trauma and exhaustion,” said Elijah matter-of-factly. 

Now it was Klaus’ turn to avoid eye contact as shame burned inside of him from how he had over reacted. 

“I will not leave your side until you kill me yourself,” he said. “I may not have been able to come to your aid before, but that will never happen again.”

“Noble Elijah,” remarked Niklaus with deep gratitude.

Finally, Klaus gathered the courage to look up at Elijah. The man seemed utterly tranquil now. Klaus’ eyes watered and he looked away again.

“I’m sorry. I said horrible, unforgivable things,” choked Klaus as he turned away from Elijah and brought his knees to his chest. “This isn’t your fault. I didn’t mean what I said… I just…”

Elijah squeezed Niklaus’ shoulder gently, as if to both forgive him and implore him to continue.

Klaus started to shake as he fought back heavy sobs. He thought of Marcel, and he thought of his father. As plain as day, he could feel their hands on his skin in place of Elijah’s hand. Paranoia and anxiety threatened to overwhelm him, and he shook Elijah’s hand from his shoulder.

“Niklaus, you’re safe with me,” said Elijah gently, “but I can go if you need space.” He stood slowly as Niklaus shook silently.

Then, Klaus began to cry into the palm of his hand and he reached out blindly for Elijah: his rock, his steady ship in the storm. His hand found and wrapped around Elijah’s wrist and he pulled Elijah forward. 

“Don’t go,” Klaus begged.

As much as human touch made his anxiety spike, Klaus needed to feel that someone safe was there with him.

“Then I won’t go,” said Elijah. “Just tell me what you need.”

“I just need you, Elijah, I don’t know, but please,” he cried as he tugged on Elijah’s wrist.

Elijah was frozen momentarily, unsure of what Klaus was asking for, but watching his Niklaus suffer was killing him. 

“It’s okay, I’m here,” Elijah whispered as he decided to climb into the tub with his nearly naked brother. Elijah shifted their bodies until Niklaus was curled on top of him, resting against his chest. Niklaus was still sobbing heavily, but he clung to Elijah and his fists made irreparable wrinkles in Elijah’s dress shirt. Elijah wrapped Niklaus in his arms and gently rocked back and forth. Elijah made soothing shushing sounds until Niklaus stopped crying, and then Elijah simply continued to rub Klaus’ bare and bony back until his brother stopped trembling as well.

Elijah closed his eyes and began to hum an old lullaby. He remembered holding Niklaus like this when they were young. After Mikael was particularly harsh with Niklaus, his younger brother would come home crying more often than not. Elijah would sit with Niklaus and rub his back until he fell asleep. Something warm fluttered in Elijah’s heart as he ran his hands through Niklaus’ hair. He felt like he could protect Niklaus for as long as he lived. More so, Elijah felt like Niklaus needed him again. It was a feeling he had been craving for centuries as Niklaus carved out his independence and his empire. A twinge of guilt told Elijah that he shouldn’t be grateful for Niklaus’ suffering, but he couldn’t help but feel immense love as Niklaus calmed down in his arms.

Then, as Klaus started to shiver from the cold of his wet skin, Elijah reached forward and turned on the tub faucet despite the fact that he was still in his suit and tie. Slowly, warm water filled the space around their bodies, and Elijah felt the tension release from Klaus’ muscles.

“Thank you,” breathed Klaus as he slid further beneath the warm water, and pressed closer to Elijah in the process. “I’m sorry. I know this is…odd, but it’s helping, truly, so thank you.” 

Elijah smiled softly and continued to rub Klaus’ back beneath the water. Perhaps it was strange, to take a bath with your naked brother as an adult. Especially after finding out that your brother had been violated in the worst of ways, but Elijah couldn’t bring himself to feel any impropriety. 

“I don’t mind,” said Elijah softly. “I just want to bring you peace. Whatever you need, brother, I’m here for you.”

They were silent again for a few more moments, but Elijah could tell that Klaus had something on his mind by the way his back tensed again.

“What made you sick earlier?” asked Niklaus.

“It wasn’t you,” answered Elijah quickly, and he felt Niklaus relax in his arms. “It was the idea that someone could…”

“Rape me?” asked Niklaus softly, finally truly at ease now that he accepted the miscommunication. 

The word made Elijah’s heart skip a beat. He hesitated to press further, unsure if Niklaus wanted to relive painful memories, but something in him had to know.

“Can I ask…” said Elijah, and Klaus nodded against his chest, curling into a tighter ball in the water. Elijah breathed deeply, allowing himself to explore these horrible thoughts for the first time. “Was this the first time that this person hurt you?”

Klaus shook his head, and listened as Elijah’s heart rate sped up.

“Was it the same person?” asked Elijah, afraid of the answer.

Klaus wasn’t sure how to respond, knowing that this was the perfect time to release centuries of secrets and free himself of an old and ugly burden. Instead, not wanting to break Elijah’s heart, Klaus nodded. He felt Elijah exhale deeply.

“Was it…” 

Elijah stopped. He knew who it was. Klaus knew he knew.

“Marcellus,” said Klaus softly. The name cut through the silence and seemed to stop time. Elijah simply held Niklaus tighter and pressed his lips into the blond head of hair.

“I don’t understand,” muttered Elijah into Niklaus’ hair. 

Klaus could have told him that it was because they let Davina die, because Freya stole Davina’s ancestral magic while Elijah held Marcel at bay. Because they killed Marcel’s adopted daughter in front his very eyes. Because Elijah tried to kill Marcel on that bridge. But Klaus didn’t say anything. He didn’t blame Elijah for the actions of monsters, but he wanted to protect Elijah from those horrible truths for as long as possible. He knew Elijah would figure it out on his own eventually. Until then, he felt that Elijah didn’t need to be burdened with even more ugly thoughts.

“It was for magic and power,” said Niklaus instead. “It was a ritual to siphon the magic of my hybrid nature. Vincent could explain it properly, I’m sure.”

“Ah, I need to apologize to him,” muttered Elijah as he realized the lengths Vincent had gone to for their family, for Niklaus. 

Then, Klaus pulled away from Elijah.

“Elijah,” said Niklaus with hesitation. “I need to tell you something, but I need you to promise me that you won’t do anything rash.”

Elijah frowned, unsure of what else Niklaus could say that would require such a formal and ominous announcement. “I promise,” he said, but Niklaus’ next words made his stomach drop.

“Mikael is back from the dead,” said Klaus, “the first ritual brought him back to life, and…”

Elijah’s face felt numb as fear overrode his senses, “and what?”

“And he…ah…showed up here…during the second ritual,” said Klaus awkwardly as he implied that their father had witnessed his rape. “He stopped the ritual and took the talisman with him when he left.”

Elijah looked dumbstruck, but didn’t seem to understand the exact nature of the situation. 

“Father…saved you?” he asked Klaus with disbelief.

Niklaus scowled briefly, remembering his father demanding gratitude. He didn’t know how to explain what happened to Elijah, and realized it was just easier to let it go.

“I suppose you could say that,” confirmed Niklaus through clenched teeth. Even saying those words made him want to bash his skull into the ground.

“That’s incredible,” said Elijah in awe, ever hopeful that their father would have a change of heart and stop trying to kill them all, just as he had always hoped that Niklaus could change and be a good man as well.

Then, Elijah pulled Klaus into a celebratory bear hug, sloshing the water over the edge of the tub and crushing the air from Klaus’ lungs. Klaus blushed as the sudden movement displaced his small towel and caused his manhood to rub against Elijah’s thigh. He hadn’t masturbated in four months, unable to feel comfortable touching his own body, and the unexpected friction made his erection grow against Elijah’s thigh. Both men froze. Klaus was unsure of what to do, and Elijah didn’t know exactly when he felt on his thigh. Then, commotion ensued full of awkward excuses and sloshing in the water as they attempted to distance their bodies. Elijah and Klaus, now on opposite side of the bathtub, were equally bright red and unable to make eye contact.

However, the embarrassment was short lived. For on the other side of New Orleans, their heartless father was about to use the siphoning talisman for a large bout of witchcraft.

Far away, the spell casting began. 

Niklaus’ blush faded as his skin turned ghostly pale. Something felt wrong, as if an unseen force tugging at his core and stealing the breath from his lungs. He gasped suddenly, trying to fight the burning of asphyxiation in his chest.

“Niklaus, what’s wrong?” asked Elijah, worried that he had done something to upset his brother, not noticing that Niklaus’ lips were turning blue.

“Elijah…” mouthed Niklaus, silently calling out for help as the world grew blurry once more. He looked down at his tingling hands, and saw they had desiccated rapidly.

Elijah watched with horror as Niklaus suddenly started seizing violently in the tub, sending tidal waves of water over the porcelain edge. His skin turned grey as he foamed at the mouth. The foam turned bloody as he bit off chunks of his tongue.

“Niklaus!” bellowed Elijah as he struggled to keep his convulsing brother above water. Elijah cried out for help as Niklaus’ body desiccated rapidly in his arms. This wasn’t normal exhaustion or blood loss anymore.

“Help! Anybody! Freya!” he yelled, but he had already sent his family away. Elijah grasped Niklaus’ face, slippery with blood and saliva, and begged him, “Don’t do this, Niklaus. Don’t let them do this to you.”

Not knowing what else to do, Elijah lifted Niklaus from the water and ran as fast as he could to find Freya. Whatever their father was doing with that siphoning talisman, it was draining the ancient magic that sustained Niklaus’ life. It was killing him.


	6. Rancor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> /ˈraNGkər/
> 
> noun: longstanding bitterness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize for the long wait! I rewrote this chapter four times before I was happy with it as I finished my finals and started a new summer class. Thank you all so much for your patience and devotion! I truly appreciate it. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this latest chapter! More coming soon of course!

Elijah took care to wrap Niklaus in Vincent’s clean, silken bed sheets before carrying his brother out into the light of day. The heat from the sun was a stark contrast to the body that felt like ice in Elijah’s arms, and Elijah’s heart raced as he struggled to hear Niklaus’ faint pulse.

“You won’t die like this,” whispered Elijah before he disappeared in a blur towards their French Quarter mansion. As he ran, Elijah paid no mind to the strangers on the streets who wondered at the quick wind that passed them by on such a still day. Despite his super human speed, time seemed to stretch into an eternity as each city block seemed to be miles long. His legs couldn’t move fast enough, even as the air swept away each tear before it had a chance to fall.

Finally, Elijah reached the bewitched iron gates that protected the family compound. He held Niklaus’ head protectively to his chest as he shifted into a martial arts stance. Then, Elijah decimated the gates with a few swift kicks to the hinges.

“Freya!” bellowed Elijah breathlessly as he ran into the empty courtyard. “Vincent!”

In a state of panic and helpless rage, Elijah swore to kill them if they were not home to save their brother.

Finally, he heard footsteps.

Rebekah was first to appear on the balcony. Her bored expression shifted rapidly as she saw the greying limbs that hung from the bed sheets.

“You liar!” she screeched as she sprinted to her brothers. “You said he was alright! How could you be so stupid, Elijah?” Rebekah panicked as she grabbed at Niklaus’ hands and feet, inspecting each rapidly as if expecting the level of desiccation to be any different. She grabbed for Nik’s face, hoping to see any sign of life, but Elijah growled and turned away from her.

“Go get the witches, now!” barked Elijah so loudly that Rebekah flinched before she ran away to fetch the others.

In the thirty seconds of stillness and silence, Elijah watched the black veins slowly creep up Niklaus’ neck. His grief had been spent. All that was left was anger at anything and everything that continued to exist as his brother’s existence was being snuffed out.

Finally, Freya and Vincent appeared huffing and puffing into the courtyard. Their slow human bodies infuriated Elijah, and he felt his fangs slipping just centimeters out from his gums. Meanwhile, Rebekah kept her distance on the balcony overlooking the scene in the courtyard. Elijah’s rage had always made her feel ill at ease. She knew that any outsiders were in mortal danger while her brother’s were on their tirades, and Vincent was most definitely an outsider. Some warm, grateful emotion stuck in Rebekah’s ribs made her feel the need to watch over the man at a time like this.

“What happened?” demanded Vincent and Freya simultaneously as they approached Elijah cautiously. His energy was sending out waves of homicidal intent.

Elijah glowered at Vincent, and the man backed up slowly.

“Niklaus said that you would know, Vincent,” said Elijah, as if to blame Vincent. “Niklaus said that our father stole a talisman from that cur, Marcellus.”

Vincent’s eyes widened, and his bottom lids tingled in the way that only comes with deep dread and horror. His jaw clenched against emotions that threatened to expose Niklaus’ trauma to the sisters, and Vincent quickly hid face in one hand until he could regain composure.

“Vincent,” said Elijah with a dangerously soft tone, “fix this. Now.”

“I don’t – I can’t – “ he replied with a stammer as the burden of saving a life fell on his shoulders. Based on the hateful look in Elijah’s eyes, Vincent was sure that Elijah would kill him if he couldn’t save the hybrid.

“Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” asked Freya. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, but the men looked away. “God help me if neither of you start talking – “

“It’s siphoning magic,” said Elijah curtly before turning around and setting Niklaus on the ground. “Niklaus is linked to a talisman that feeds off of his hybridism. Apparently even a vampire can harness the energy from this talisman to perform magic.”

Freya frowned and rubbed the bridge of her nose, betraying no emotions or reactions.

Elijah stood after making sure that Niklaus looked comfortable on the ground. Without turning back to look at the witches, he said, “Now tell me, Vincent, could this kill him?”

“Yes, it could kill him,” said Vincent quietly. “It seems like the desiccation is slow right now, which means that the enemy might not be using magic at this very moment, but Klaus seems to be constantly sustaining whatever magic was used in the first place…so…he probably won’t get better until the spell is discontinued.”

“And we don’t know when they’ll use the talisman again,” added Freya. Her voice and her eyes were cold and devoid of emotion. “So, we need to fix this now.”

“Well, we don’t have time to find the talisman,” muttered Vincent as he closed his eyes, deep in thought.

“And we don’t have time to kill Marcel,” said Freya.

“We may not have time to actually break siphoning link, but if we could temporarily disrupt the flow of magic…” said Vincent slowly, and then the witches looked at each other with wide eyes.

“St. James’ Infirmary!” they said at once, referencing the jazz bar with a powerful disruption spell that prevented witchcraft.

“Elijah, Rebekah!” shouted Freya as her mind spun with ingredients and spells. “I need you to get a few things from my study.”

With that, she sent the siblings off to find an extensive list of miscellaneous items. Within a few minutes, Niklaus was surrounded by an elaborate sigil of black salt, burning candles, and various witchy knick-knacks. Freya and Vincent stood opposite each other across the sigil, with Freya holding on to Elijah, and Vincent holding on to Rebekah for an extra surge of power.

“Ready?” asked Freya as she closed her eyes. Everyone followed suit, anxious to complete this spell before the enemy could use the talisman again.

“Okay,” muttered Freya as she and Vincent started to chant. “ _Il n'y aura pas de magie ici, Il n'y aura pas de magie ici, Il n'y aura pas de magie ici…”_

The air in the courtyard whipped up into a gentle storm. Flower petals and leaves from the bushes swirled around them, but Niklaus was the calm in the eye of the storm.

Freya and Vincent began to yell as they tightened their grips on their respective Original conduits.

“ _Il n’y aura pas de magie ici!”_

A spell of this size and power had taken an entire coven to protect the jazz club in Algiers. This time, the area was a fraction of the size, but it nonetheless took every ounce of power from the witches and Original vampires.

“ _IL N’Y AURA PAS DE MAGIE ICI!”_

The wind stopped suddenly, and Vincent felt a powerful magical barrier shimmer into existence around Klaus. Weak, but happy, he turned to Rebekah to share the good news, but instead he found himself rushing to catch her as she began to tilt unsteadily on her feet. Vincent sidestepped and caught her a few feet from the cobblestone courtyard. On the other side of the sigil, Elijah met a crueler fate. Confident in her other brother’s immortality, Freya simply wiped her bloody nose and left for her bedroom as Elijah’s skull cracked on the unforgiving ground.

Vincent winced at the noise, but couldn’t care less to check on Elijah’s wellbeing as he looked down at the blonde in his arms. Mesmerized for a moment by her ethereal beauty, Vincent forgot Rebekah’s bloodthirsty nature. Instead, as he watched her fluttering, bloodstained lashes, he saw a hint of human fragility. Vincent used his thumb to brush away a tear of blood from under her eye. Responding to the gentle caress, she leaned into his touch in a daze and parted her lips to make a soft mewing noise. Heat rose in Vincent’s cheeks, as this beautiful woman seemed to be more like an angel than a murderous creature of the night. Nervousness ate away at his stomach lining as he realized the impropriety of holding her any longer.

“Rebekah?” called Vincent urgently, hoping to draw her back into consciousness before Elijah could wake and kill Vincent for simply existing near the youngest Mikaelson sister. Too nervous to care for her any longer, Vincent set her gently to the ground, knowing she would wake soon as her strength returned.

He then turned his attention towards Niklaus. Color was slowly returning to Klaus’ skin as the black veins receded. Friendly affection bubbled up in Vincent’s soul as he watched Klaus’ breathing become stronger.

Satisfied with his work for the day, Vincent stretched and looked up to see that dusk had fallen over the compound. Then, he looked to the iron gates that had been crumpled and rendered useless by Elijah’s rampage. Night was approaching quickly, and it seemed that the Mikaelsons were completely vulnerable to any bold and daring souls. Vincent sighed heavily, unable to leave even Elijah in a state such as this.

And so, with great reluctance, Vincent lowered himself to the ground and sat cross-legged on the cobblestones. Tonight, he would be the Keeper of the Mikaelson brood.

Hours passed as Elijah recuperated in a small pool of his own blood after hitting his head. Rebekah seemed at peace curled under Vincent’s coat. Even Klaus seemed healthy as fullness had returned to his lips and cheekbones, ridding the poor man of his prior deathly gauntness. Everything finally seemed alright, but the peacefulness was betrayed by the knowledge of all that was still wrong, and all that had come before this tranquility. Vincent felt the need to protect this tranquility for as long as he could. Come hell or high water, his new friend had endured enough.

But the night was long, and Vincent found himself drifting into terrible dreams of old evils. To keep himself awake, he hummed Steve Earle and sang under his breath as the night drew on.

“ _This city won’t wash away, this city won’t ever drown…”_

Vincent closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the pillar

“ _Blood in the water and hell to pay, sky tear open and pain rain down, doesn’t matter cause come what may…”_

Rebekah’s eyes fluttered open as she heard deep, rich voice carrying over the courtyard. Her bones hurt from sleeping on stone, but the somber song made her want to stay in this moment for just a little while longer.

_“I ain’t ever gonna leave this town. Maybe our bones’ll wash away.”_

Vincent stopped and sighed heavily. His life in this city had been so long, and his bones were tired.

Rebekah felt a pang in her chest as she watched this man alone with his thoughts. She noticed a soft melancholy etched into Vincent’s brows and the corners of his lips. Had he always looked that way?

“Don’t stop,” she implored softly as she sat up and kept his coat wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

Vincent opened his eyes and searched the darkness until he met Rebekah’s still blue gaze. In the lull of the night, her eyes seemed to harbor a deep unhappiness. Was that what she hid behind her stone cold expressions in the light of day?

Vincent closed his eyes again, feeling something painful in his chest and not understanding why, as he finished the last verse, “ _maybe our bones’ll wash away…but this city won’t ever drown….”_

The last note hung in the air, and neither spoke. They simply existed in the same quiet moment together as hours passed in silence, and the sun rose over the courtyard.

Eventually, Elijah and Niklaus began to shift and groan as they regained consciousness as well. The tranquility melted away, and intensity returned to the atmosphere. Vincent stood without looking back at Rebekah, feeling vulnerable now without knowing why. Rebekah seemed to feel similarly as she whisked away to her bedroom before her brothers could open their eyes. And so, with the Original family able to look after itself once more, Vincent left to find a new, safe place to rest his weary soul.

 

-

 

Elijah woke with a blinding headache, disgruntled by the blood matted in his hair. And yet this was nothing compared to the displeasure he felt towards waking up alone with his vulnerable brother in the gateless, unprotected courtyard.

His heart skipped a beat when he heard rustling a few feet away.

“Elijah…” groaned Klaus. His throat was burned with thirst and his stomach ached with hunger.

Elijah left instantly to acquire a few blood bags, but in the time that he was gone, Klaus realized his predicament. Once more, he had woken up relatively naked on cold, hard stone, surrounded by a circle of magical objects. The familiarity made him panic. Had he been imprisoned once more? And by who?

Klaus struggled to get up as his muscles screamed in protest, but he only managed to entangle his limbs in silken sheets.

“Why the fuck…” cursed Niklaus as he tore into the sheets with his fangs. This only served to add more pieces of silk to the knotted cocoon of bed linens that was slowly encasing his entire body. Niklaus thrashed with wild frustration until he threw his shins out of the sigil that surrounded him. A burning sensation traveled quickly from the tips of his toes and his calves desiccated instantaneously. He hardly noticed as urgency dampened his senses. He needed to get out of here before someone came for him, and that was all that mattered.

“Brother!” shouted Elijah as he returned in time to see Niklaus trying to escape the sigil. “Niklaus, stop!”

Elijah dropped the blood bags and ran over to roll Niklaus back into the wards. Niklaus’ eyes were wild, not seeing Elijah for who he was, and only feeling strong hands against his shoulders and waist.

“Fuck off,” growled Klaus as he twisted his powerful obliques and sank his venomous fangs deep into Elijah’s forearm.

Elijah hissed and retracted his arm, leaving behind shredded skin in his brother’s mouth. The burning wolf venom shot through his veins, but his wayward brother was a more pressing matter. Niklaus had destroyed the bed sheets with razor sharp fangs and claws. And so, suddenly unhindered, Klaus attempted to drag his weakened body to the other edge of the sigil.

Elijah grimaced, regretting what he was about to do, and climbed on top of his disoriented brother. Klaus snapped his jaws and knees at Elijah, knocking the wind out of Elijah and sending another dose wolf venom coursing through Elijah’s shoulder.

“Be still Niklaus! It’s me! It’s your brother,” panted Elijah as he used one knee to pin Niklaus’ stomach, another knee to pin Niklaus’ arm, and his hands to keep Niklaus’ venomous fangs far away from any other targets. “Shhhh, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Eventually, between sudden bursts of struggle, Klaus’ eyes began to refocus and his fangs retracted bit by bit until he was limp on the ground

“Brother…” muttered Niklaus as he looked around, slowly recognizing the courtyard as his family home. He seemed dazed and unsure of how Elijah had ended up half on top of him. “What is this?”

Elijah exhaled with relief and took his weight off of Niklaus, but he stayed close by in case his brother tried to run again.

“We made a sigil to protect you from siphoning,” said Elijah. “You were dying...This should keep you safe for now as long as you stay inside.”

“It seems like I’ve simply migrated from one prison to the next,” said Niklaus as his throat constricted around the idea.

He inspected the small circle surrounding him, wishing he could replace the unease with the gratefulness that Elijah deserved.

Elijah watched Niklaus try to hide a burgeoning anxiety.

“We’ll find a better way,” said Elijah earnestly. “This is only temporary until we can destroy the talisman or kill Marcellus.”

Niklaus tensed suddenly and barked, “you will do no such thing Elijah!”

Woozy from the wolf venom and taken aback by Niklaus’ anger, Elijah was defensive. “Do you feel like you would be more suited to this task?” he asked with a frown.

Klaus’ face reddened at the layers of implications and he sneered at his brother.

“No, but Marcel nearly killed you once before,” said Niklaus coldly, “and considering his new and improved skillsets, do you honestly think that any of us stand a chance?”

“It’s different now, this time we know what we’re up against,” countered Elijah.

“Believe me when I tell you that you don’t know,” snarled Niklaus.

The brother’s stared at each other in a battle of wills, both feeling as if they knew best, both feeling as if they had the right to decide how to proceed. Niklaus as victim, and Elijah as the protector.

After a few moments of watching Elijah’s desperate eyes, Klaus softened and looked down at the shredded silk that barely protected his modesty. “This,” he said as he gestured across his lean body with a flick of his wrist, “if this is the price that I paid to keep my family safe, then I won’t have that sacrifice be made in vain.”

Elijah looked away as his mind threatened to conjure images of what his brother’s body had been made to endure. He closed his eyes as the wolf venom made it hard to reject these intrusive thoughts.

“If he killed you,” continued Niklaus as he bit into his wrist and offered his blood to heal Elijah, “if he hurt you the way he hurt me…”

The confession rippled through Elijah like an electric shock, and his eyes watered. The fact that Niklaus had to worry about such things broke Elijah’s heart. Elijah felt helpless to do anything at all for his brother. He wiped his eyes quickly as he sank his teeth into Niklaus’ wrist and drank deeply. He felt that he should be the one to protect his family, his younger brother, and yet even now Elijah was reminded that Niklaus was the stronger of the two of them.

Elijah finished quickly as his body healed. He pulled his teeth from Niklaus’ flesh and ran his thumb over the disappearing puncture wounds.

“Thank you,” he muttered and turned away to get up.

“It would kill me,” finished Niklaus bluntly, and Elijah froze briefly before standing and leaving the sigil. His heart was beating rapidly.

“However we decide to end this, I swear to you brother…I will be at your side,” said Elijah, “Always and forever.” He paused to finally hand Niklaus the blood bags. “Regain your strength, I’ll be back with clothing and a bed.”

Elijah disappeared swiftly, and Klaus was left alone to contemplate the way his life had changed.

 

 -

 

Immediately after the disruption magic was cast on the sigil around Niklaus, Freya knew she had to get out of the courtyard. Paying no mind to her fallen siblings, she wiped the blood of exertion from her face, and left as quickly as her wobbling legs would allow. Anxiety was eating her alive.

She recognized that magic.

“ _It’s not possible_ ,” she breathed as she hurried down the last hallway towards her bedroom.

And yet she couldn’t deny the magical signature that emanated from Niklaus when Elijah brought him home, the familiar energy that had laced her with unease ever since they left Vincent’s apartment.

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of these thoughts.

Freya fumbled with the doorknob and stumbled into her room.

“Please don’t let me be right,” she begged in the silence, “ _please_.”

With only one thing on her mind, Freya rushed towards her bedside table. She opened the drawer to reveal ten leather-bound journals. These were the only records of her life between the centuries of hibernation with her aunt Dahlia.

Freya hesitated before picking up the seventh journal. Had it really been four hundred years? Her memories were bleary between centuries of sleep, but these memories in particular were still raw and rotting in her skull.

Her hands shook as she opened the pages of the dilapidated text, making the faded Nordic runes difficult to read. Freya breathed deeply to steady her hands.

_Freya_

_First born Mikaelson_

_Ward of Dahlia Ostergard_

_1514 AD_

_I cannot forgive my aunt for killing my true love. I cannot forget the death of our unborn child. Every night, I dream of wailing infants. Every day, my mind tricks me with visions of Mathias’ face the moment before he died._

_I will not permit Dahlia to live without retribution. I will not allow her evil deeds to fester in this world any longer._

_By the Gods, I swear that I will avenge her victims. I cannot kill her, but I will take what she cherishes most: her magic._

Tears dripped onto the parchment and blurred the words.

Freya flipped to the next pages and saw drafts of sigils and runes scribbled and crossed out in haste. Finally, on the ninth page, she found the finished product. A deceptively simple, swirling sigil with notes for ingredients listed at the bottom. Then, in the top corner was a crude drawing of the Nordic fertility goddess.

This was her siphoning spell, her vengeance.

“This is my fault,” she breathed as she wiped away her tears and slammed the journal shut.

In a flurry of motion, Freya threw the journal back into the drawer, and locked the incriminating pages away under spell and key.

This was one secret that she was determined to keep.


	7. Nadir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Seven: Nadir
> 
> /ˈnādər,ˈnādir/
> 
> Noun: The lowest point in the fortunes of a person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wholeheartedly apologize for not updating sooner. I have no plans to abandon this story, and I hope people have not yet abandoned me either. To be completely honest, I've had a horrible time lately, but coming back to writing this story is what I realized that I really needed in my life at the moment.
> 
> Anyways, the next part should be coming soon. Originally this chapter was going to be 18 pages, but I cut it in half to get it up sooner while I worked on the last half. *air quotes* sooner *end air quotes*
> 
> But please enjoy!

Days passed slowly in the cramped sigil. A narrow mattress took up the entire space, and the piles of books, spare blood bags, and drawing pads served to make the sigil feel even smaller. Worse than the confinement was the loneliness. Elijah had effectively scared off Vincent, and Elijah himself had been off cavorting with the locals as he hunted relentlessly for any sign of Marcel and Mikael in the city. Kol had been missing since the day the sigil was cast, having run off on his own after leaving Vincent’s apartment, claiming to have seen someone familiar in the distance. Freya seemed like she simply couldn’t be bothered with Klaus while she worked on deconstructing the ritual. At least he had Rebekah, who seemed to smile more freely every time she visited him for breakfast in the early mornings. 

Klaus had been up all night as he poured through his collection of Stephen King. For centuries, fleeing from his father and carving out an empire had consumed his entire life. He scarcely had time to immerse himself in the luxury of reading. Although, over the past few days, Klaus found himself impressed by the creative writers and tropes that had come about in the last two hundred years. In particular, he enjoyed the subtle cultural commentary and moralism found in horror.

He began with The Shining late last night, and had picked up The Stand as dawn poured into the courtyard. While waiting for Rebekah to arrive with Nordic waffles, caviar paste, and smoked salmon, Klaus was stuck rereading a particular passage:

‘No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side.

Or you don’t.’

Klaus book marked the page and flipped onto his back to contemplate the chords that were struck by King’s words. He felt that he was going through such a transition, but he wasn’t sure that he could come out on the other side, nor that he wanted to. 

As the heat of the day began to lull him into a half sleep, he heard a clanging on the iron gates. His stomach rumbled with thoughts of warm carbs and salty fish.

“You’re late, ‘Bekah,” said Niklaus with a small smile. Truthfully, he was glad to be shaken out of such dreary thoughts.

He sat up to greet her, but the person at the gates made his heart stop.

There his father stood at the foot of the iron gates, staring through the cold black bars with eyes colder still.

Klaus absorbed this sight without thinking, without breathing. He simply existed in the burn in his lungs and the rapid pulse that begged for oxygen. It wasn’t until he felt faint and swayed where he sat that Niklaus took a deep, shuddering breath. He knew this day would come. It had only been a matter of time before someone came looking for him when the siphoning failed. 

Without breaking eye contact, Klaus backed away to the edge of the sigil, feeling that the extra three feet would provide some sort of additional protection. Vulnerability ate away at his stomach lining despite the heavy magical wards that Freya had placed upon the compound.

A sneer cut into Mikael’s face.

“Your cowardice won’t protect you for long, boy,” said Mikael.

These words chilled Niklaus to the bone. Klaus knew that his father was right. He had been hiding for three months with Vincent, but that had not protected him. Now he was hiding in the compound, but his cowardice seemed worthless. It was only a matter of time.

“You should speak when spoken to,” said Mikael as he looked down his nose at his son.

With petulance, Niklaus refused to speak. It was a waiting game. He assumed that Mikael would not want to be caught alone when the rest of his children returned, but Klaus didn’t know how long he could maintain composure with this hateful man watching him from less than fifty feet away.

Mikael leaned against the gates and inspected the dirt beneath his fingernails.

“You can pretend to be stoic in your silent protest, but I know you’re scared boy,” said Mikael casually. “I can hear your heart racing. I can hear your breath hitch.”  
Klaus willed his heart to stop beating, but to no avail.

“You seem to have become a damsel in distress,” said Mikael as he moved on to his second set of fingernails. “I can’t help but feel ashamed, even if you aren’t my blood.”

Klaus looked down at his feet, still silent in his embarrassment. 

“Honestly, it’s hardly how I raised you,” he mused

Klaus grimaced as Mikael baited him out of his silence.

“You hardly raised me at all,” said Klaus as he crossed his arms. 

His father huffed with indignation.

“I did my best,” countered Mikael.

Klaus mulled over that statement, unsure of how to respond to that revelation.

His father was quiet for a moment as he closed his eyes and leaned his skulls against the iron bars. He closed his eyes and seemed to struggle with something in his own mind. Mikael sighed.

“I know I wasn't a good father to you, boy...” Mikael muttered and paused. 

Klaus’ eyebrows rose briefly in surprise, holding his breath as he hung on his father's last words. .

“I regretted our relationship...I hated myself for what I did to you,” said Mikael as he frowned, and deep set wrinkles cut through his forehead.

Without invitation, a shy and painful hope flickered in Klaus' soul. 

Was this the apology that he had craved as a child? After he lost count of the beatings and violations, Klaus had given up hoping that his father would ever love him like he loved the others. He had given up hope, but suddenly, a childlike innocence and a need to be loved by his father was overwhelming any hint of hatred.

“Father…” he whispered, nearly begging.

But Mikael grimaced at the words.

“Fatherhood did not come naturally to me,” he went on with his eyes still closed. “And I had my own demons that I needed to overcome…”

Klaus stood and moved forward to the front of the sigil, wanting to see his father better, wanting to hear these words that he didn’t know he still needed to hear.

“You were a gentle boy, Niklaus,” said Mikael. 

Klaus felt frozen in this moment that didn’t feel real. Klaus had gone over this scenario time and time again. If given the chance, could he forgive his father? He had always concluded that forgiveness was impossible, but faced with the chance in real life, Klaus wasn't sure.

Mikael opened his eyes and watched his son for a few moments more.

“That gentleness angered me,” said Mikael. “It tempted me.”

"What?" balked Klaus as reality shattered this childhood dream.

The implication of fault hit Klaus like lightening. His eyes burned as he realized how foolish he had been. Mikael had obviously come to torment him, because his father could never love him. Could only ever hate him. Klaus turned his back on his father and his hope.

"Go fuck yourself," Klaus begged, but Mikael wasn't done.

“I regretted every time you made me lose my way, every night that you drew me away from the light of the Gods,” said Mikael, and every word became a dagger in his son’s heart. “I was caught in a war, Niklaus.”

“Stop...” Klaus whispered, not wanting to hear anymore. Not wanting to feel this pain anymore. “I don’t want to know why…”

Mikael continued unabated.

“A battle raged in me for years before you broke me,” he said, “I needed to have you, to take you – my own supposed flesh and blood – but the temptation threatened to overwhelm me. I knew what I had to do to save myself from eternal damnation.”

Klaus choked and started to sob. He bent forward and clutched his stomach as the tears finally rolled down his cheeks and his neck. These were the fears that existed only his nightmares, the fears that everything was his fault, and his fault alone. That something was intrinsically wrong with him that made his father do those horrible things.

“I knew...Niklaus, I knew that I had to beat you until there was neither gentleness, nor artistry, nor submission. I punished you for those sinful desires that you created simply through existing,” said Mikael.

“Stop,” begged Klaus again through heavy sobs and gasps. He had opened his heart, hoping for closure, and the pain of this accusation threatened to rip him apart.

"But it never worked, because you were always just...you," said Mikael, leaving the implication hanging in the air. 

Just when Klaus thought that he couldn't hear anymore, and that just one more word would kill him, Mikael drove the last nail into his coffin.

“In the end, I just wanted you to know” said Mikael with an insidious smile, “that I forgive you, boy, for making me into the monster that I was. I forgive you."

Klaus froze in shock as if he had literally been slapped across the face. Had he really just heard those cruel words slip form his father’s mouth? Klaus felt himself implode inwards. His knees buckled as he tried to contain his sobs, and he hunched his back until his forehead was pressed into the cobblestones. 

"I hate you," whined Niklaus into the stones, too consumed by pain to be humiliated by his high pitched cry. His father was unfazed, having heard this so many times before.

Mikael watched grief wrack his son’s body for only a few moments more. He relished the heat that rose in his loins and his fists. Longing and disgust mingled briefly before Mikael rid himself of those thoughts. They were mere distractions until he could figure out how to break down the obstacle in his way, but Mikael knew that the sigil wouldn’t protect his bastard son for long. In fact, he was shocked by how stupid his children were for placing their brother out in the courtyard where any passerby could see him. The stupidity nearly offended him, had he not been grateful for how easy it made it to figure out why the talisman hadn’t been working.

Mikael closed his eyes and listened to those muffled sobs. The weakness still irritated him to this day. “Pathetic child,” he muttered before disappearing from the gates of the Mikaelson home.

Klaus lay curled on the ground until the sun went down. He hated himself for wanting to find peace with his father. Klaus was sickened by the simple notion that he even considered forgiving his father. He should have known better.

As the hours alone wore on, he went over his father’s words again and again. He had always been a quiet and lithe child. His brothers had been warriors at heart. He had been pale and fair and slight before reaching puberty, but even then, his muscles had been lean and tight. Klaus had been built like a runner on the plains, not a Viking made for warfare and carpentry.

He had tried to climb the social hierarchy and he had tried to make his father proud, but he could never escape this body.

Even then, he was haunted by his tendency to see beauty in the world. His bittersweet sadness that drove him to capture that beauty through art and to preserve it for an eternity. No matter how he tried to suppress his true self, Klaus still found himself carving ornate trinkets when he should have been carving hunting knives and arrows. In the beginning, violence had not come easily to him. Hatred and war had not been a default setting until his father beat it into him.

The self-loathing burned him like fire. He couldn’t be that gentle boy he was born to be. He couldn’t feel safe or at ease in that vulnerable state. But he also couldn’t be this war-mongering devil that his father had created. Every option seemed to be sullied, influenced by abuse and trauma. There was nowhere to go in his skin or his soul that had not been affected or pre-determined by each and every violation.

“Well fuck…” muttered Klaus up into the dusky sky. He rolled onto his back and waited for the stars to show up. “I guess I could always just kill myself.”

Slowly, that quiet admission made him feel giddy and light. Like a bright and shiny exit sign that he could run to at any moment. An escape from his past and future. A reminder that if things ever got bad enough, it would be okay because it could all be over in an instant.

Perhaps in the light of day, those thoughts would have scared him. But now, as he stared up at the hollow darkness between stars, Klaus Mikaelson planned his death.


	8. Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noun: A temporary escape from an undesirable fate
> 
> /rəˈprēv/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! I hope everyone is doing well. It's so crazy to think that people from all over come together to celebrate this fandom, so thank you for making my day whenever you enjoy this story! 
> 
> P.s. Just to clarify in case some people are confused or wondering, this is definitely a Klelijah romance fic. :3

It was high noon with the sun directly overhead. Klaus had already counted the clouds like sheep trying desperately to escape consciousness. He was unsuccessful, and so Klaus had taken to staring directly into the sun. Slowly, his retina would burn and the world would go black. Then his eyes would heal and he would start the process over again. All in all, it was better than watching the grass grow in between the cobblestones and he couldn’t quite focus on his books at the moment.

Finally, he heard a barrage of footsteps approaching the gates, and a murmuring a familiar voices. They sounded happy, and that seemed foreign.

“Niklaus! We come bearing gifts and good tidings,” said Elijah with a boyish grin as they entered the manor grounds. He and Rebekah were carrying large cardboard boxes that smelled vaguely of lavender and ocean air, but Niklaus couldn’t bring himself to wonder what they held or why.

“I have some news of my own, brother,” said Klaus as he sat up and blinked the sun out of his eyes. “Should you go first or shall I?”

The new arrivals furrowed the brows and exchanged confused glances. They weren’t sure what news Klaus could possibly have while being stuck inside that small sigil for days on end. 

“Go on,” said Elijah with one eyebrow raised.

“Well, our dearest father dropped by for a quick chat,” said Klaus. He turned his face back up to the sun and closed his eyes. 

The announcement was met with a collective gasp, and Elijah began to pace.

“And Marce-?“ began Elijah, but he stopped when he saw NIklaus’ lips purse ever so slightly.

“He just wanted to know why the siphoning talisman wasn’t working,” said Klaus. “Then he left, and all was well.”

“I’m surprised that he didn’t have any witches with him to break down the wards around the property,” said Vincent as he scratched his chin.

“Or that’s what we have to prepare for next time,” said Freya. She began to rummage through boxes, and Vincent joined her.

While the two witches discussed wards, illusions, and traps, Elijah searched Niklaus with his eyes for any sign of wrongdoing. The barriers on the compound held up. The sigil lines were unbroken. There were no traces of blood and his clothes were still pristine, but something was amiss. Then, Elijah noticed full and untouched blood bags hidden slightly behind the edge of the mattress. He narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t like Niklaus to lose his appetite, especially in the face of danger. In fact, the only other time he had witnessed this behavior was shortly after the death of Camille. Yes, something was surely wrong.

Elijah approached the edge of the sigil and looked down as his brother. Klaus’ body was strewn lazily on the mattress, but lines between brows betrayed a hint of tension.

“Why haven’t you eaten?” asked Elijah softly.

Klaus looked up to see worried brown eyes. For a moment, he felt that Elijah could see right through him, that Elijah could tell that he wanted to die. He opened and closed his mouth, unsure of an appropriate lie while the real answer was that temporary hunger blunted his rage and grief. He would always eat before the desiccation set in, but the hunger pains had become a welcome distraction from the constant replay of his father’s accusations. 

“Just lost in thought, Elijah,” he murmured and rolled over to sink his teeth into the nearest blood bag. It was type A positive, a sharp and vibrant taste that shocked his system. The influx of energy made his anxiety surge, and Elijah tilted his head curiously while he listened to Niklaus’ heart rate speed up.

Elijah hmmed and watched his brother drink for a few more moments before he believed his brother’s lie. 

“Well, don’t you want to hear the good news?” asked Elijah. Klaus could hear the smile in his voice before he even turned around.

“The only good news would be getting to leave this godforsaken circle of salt,” he said dryly.

Elijah’s smile widened as Niklaus eyes did the same.

“No,” he said with disbelief, having been somewhat positive that he would be trapped for the next few years.

“Yes,” said Elijah with a beaming smile.

In his excitement, Niklaus instinctively got up and stepped forward to hug Elijah, but after two paces, Klaus hissed and fell back sharply. The tips of his toes and fingers burned when they had crossed the sigil lines. He cradled his hands as if to nurse them back to health as he scowled. Then, Elijah reached over the lines and grabbed Klaus’ hands to take a look at his grey fingertips. He shook his head and grumbled.

“We’re taking care of this,” Elijah assured Niklaus, but his brother just pulled away and crossed his arms as his to hide his hands. 

The desiccation felt like his tormentors marking their territory, and he didn’t want Elijah to see that. He couldn’t be happy about this. Even without the siphoning, the rituals, and the desiccation, he still couldn’t imagine his body as being his own. Klaus curled in on himself as he crossed his arms ever tighter. If freedom didn’t bring him peace, the white oak was still there.

“Niklaus…” said Elijah with uncertainty as he watched the depression sink its teeth back into his brother. He searched for the right words, but then Freya called everyone to meet her by the boxes and unpacked piles of magical ingredients. She started handing out items to everyone but Klaus.

“Elijah – carve the candles with this symbol here,” she ordered and handed him a paper with an intricate pattern.

“Rebekah – I’ll show you how to lay down the salt lines,” said Freya and Rebekah nodded. “Vincent – you know what to do.”

Then, everyone set to work on his or her own separate tasks. Klaus sat in the center of the commotion and watched as his simple sigil was slowly becoming much more elaborate and ornate with the addition of candles, new salt lines, and herbs. At this rate, the sigil would consume the entire courtyard. 

“So would anyone like to fill me in on the details of whatever the hell this is?” asked Klaus with apprehension as he gestured to the spiraling salt lines and elaborately braided sprigs of lavender laid carefully on the ground. 

Rebekah huffed and sucked her teeth, seeming altogether displeased as she measured out a perfectly even swirl of salt on the ground.

“Well,” began Elijah hesitantly, “to be clear, it’s not really a way to free you from the siphon link specifically, but Freya did find a way for you to survive outside of the sigil.”

Niklaus’ face fell, and the gloom emanating from Niklaus felt like a tangible fog drifting through the courtyard.

“I see,” he said softly.

Rebekah gestured towards Niklaus aggressively and put her hand on her hip.

“See, I told you he wouldn’t like it,” she said, “You got his hopes up for this stupid, dangerous plan.”

“It’s not stupid,” countered Elijah, “and it’s better than letting him deteriorate in this – this prison.”

“Staying in this sigil is better than risking both your lives!” said Rebekah as she raised her voice. “I won’t lose another brother this year!” The courtyard fell silent and her voice rang throughout the halls of the manor. Her eyes started to water and she turned around sharply.

“Elijah, what’s she talking about?” asked Klaus.

“We won’t die…Freya said – ” he muttered and averted his eyes. He took at deep breath to steady himself through the fresh grief of losing Finn.

“Freya said wait?” asked Klaus through clenched teeth. 

“Hold on now,” interjected Vincent with raised hands. “Freya did the best that she could. Essentially, Freya deconstructed the original ritual and made it possible for you to draw on someone else’s power as the talisman draws on your power. Elijah volunteered for you to siphon him.”

Vincent would have continued the explanation, but a withering glare from Rebekah stopped him in his tracks and he went to stand by her side.

Meanwhile, Klaus furrowed his brows. He could think of so many ways for this to go horribly wrong.

“I will not put Elijah in harms way,” said Klaus, “I can stay in this sigil for a while longer.”

“Niklaus, we’re doing this,” said Elijah sternly. “While you siphon me, Freya will connect me to the core magic of the earth. She said it would take a spell of apocalyptic proportions in order to do any real damage.”

Klaus could think of a few spells like that instantly.

“Exactly,” said Freya, finally interjecting as she wiped sweat of concentration from her forehead. “This type of ladder siphoning drastically reduces the chances of either of you dying.”

The cold and logical explanation did not sooth Niklaus.

“Why use Elijah? Why not just link me to the earth in the first place?” asked Klaus.

“You’re too weak right now to be released from the sigil alone,” she said, “You wouldn’t be able to draw on the energy of the earth quickly enough to sustain your life force before the siphoning killed you today, and so you need a powerful buffer like Elijah to make the siphoning safe.”

“You promise this will work? That Elijah will be okay?” asked Klaus.

Freya nodded and finally looked up at him to make eye contact for the first time in days. Klaus could she prominent dark circles and red veins creeping into the whites of her eyes. Even her skin seemed dull and dehydrated.

“I promise you, Niklaus,” she said heavily.

The stared at each other for a few moments longer, examining each other’s ragged appearances and sunken cheeks.

“Okay,” he slowly. “I trust you. Let’s do this.”

Freya blinked rapidly to hold back tears as she nodded and turned away again. Klaus cleared his throat and tried to decipher what he felt when he looked into her eyes, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

“So,” started Klaus as he tried to find the right words for a question that had been nagging at him for the past hour, “do all siphoning rituals involve similar activities?”

“Similar activities…” said Elijah as he trailed off before he realized that Klaus was referencing the assault.

Elijah blanched as he watched redness creep up Niklaus’ collarbone. He stuttered as he attempted to correct Niklaus’ apparent misunderstanding, but he felt his tongue tied by the lewdness of the potential implication. Instead, he just shook his head vigorously to let Niklaus know that there absolutely would not be any sexual interactions today.

Luckily, Freya came to the rescue.

“To create any sort of bond between two people, there needs to be… some type of physical interaction,” said Freya as she lit the candles with a flick of her wrist. “You just need to hold hands during the ritual.” 

Klaus took a deep breath to steady his nerves. That wasn’t so bad. He felt rather ridiculous for worrying about anything else. Of course Freya and Elijah wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, nor were they going to invade his privacy without asking. 

As Klaus mulled this over, Elijah made his way through the courtyard, careful not to disturb any of the intricate work. He sat by the edge of the mattress and the brothers just waited for Freya to finish her preparations.

“You don’t have to do this,” whispered Niklaus.

“Always and forever doesn’t look like this,” whispered Elijah as he gestured to the sigil. “Let me do this for you.”

Something in Elijah’s deep brown eyes and earnest gaze chipped away at the ice that had encased Niklaus’ heart. He nodded. Then, Klaus remembered the words of Stephen King: ‘There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don’t.’

Klaus took a shaky breath. He would find out soon enough.

And then, the sigil was ready.

Freya corralled Elijah and Klaus into their designated positions on either side of the Sigil. They were trembling slightly, both aware of the gravity of what they were about to do. Klaus took one step back, but Elijah grabbed his hands tightly and held them to his chest. His hands were warm and comforting.

“I can’t lose you to this,” Klaus whispered. “I should just stay in this sigil until Freya figures something out.”

Elijah smiled slightly, “You won’t. Just look at me, it’ll be fine.”

“It’ll be fine,” repeated Klaus without faith as fear settled into his gut. His confidence in Freya was draining every second.

“Look at me,” said Elijah once more as he leaned forward and rested his forehead against Klaus’ brow.

Niklaus looked forward into Elijah’s steady eyes and felt his anxiety fade slightly. His breath slowed. Maybe – just maybe – he could make it through this pain and anguish if he had his brother by his side, his noble Elijah.

Then, Freya began to chant in the Mikaelson mother tongue, “Bundet av hud, bundet av blod. Bundet av hud, bundet av blod.”

Elijah and Niklaus flushed simultaneously. Freya was chanting the words: bound by skin, bound by blood. It sounded more like an old Viking hand fasting ceremony than a spell casting. 

“BUNDET AV HUD, BUNDET AV BLOD.”

A sudden gust of wind rushed through the courtyard and scattered the salt that created the sigil lines. Driven by protective instinct, Elijah pulled Niklaus into his arms. A flash of light blinded them and heat coursed through their bodies. Their hearts raced as their vision returned. They remained standing and swaying together as the wind died down and Freya stopped her chanting. Niklaus peaked over Elijah’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of his own bare hands. He stared in shock as he saw that he hadn’t desiccated in the slightest even though the sigil had been destroyed.

“It worked,” whispered Niklaus. 

His cool breath sent shivers down Elijah’s neck.

“It worked!” repeated Rebekah in glee as she and Vincent hugged before running over to congratulate Niklaus. Hugs, smiles, and laughter took over the courtyard. They jumped and jostled each other, taking care not to crush Vincent with their superior strength. Drunk on success and lightheaded from the magic coursing through their bodies, Niklaus and Elijah found themselves leaning against each other for support. It created an electricity between them, and neither seemed to want to pull away.

Meanwhile, Rebekah was hugging Vincent and swaying as she thanked him.

“By the gods, I could just kiss you for everything you’ve done for us,” she said and Vincent felt himself blush. He desperately hoped that she would, but not in front of her brothers. 

She pulled away and went to hug her brother’s one more time.

“All of this stress has made me famished,” she said with a happy and airy tone. “Vincent, would you join me at the café?”

Vincent nodded, a bit dazed by her affections, and followed her out as she waved goodbye.

“Bring me a croissant with peach jam!” called Klaus as he watched them leave with a wistful expression.

Meanwhile, Elijah frowned enough to create permanent wrinkles on his immortal face.

“So that’s why she didn’t meet me for breakfast,” mused Niklaus as the budding romance finally became blindingly obvious.

Elijah, on the other hand, was unimpressed. 

“He doesn’t seem good enough for our sister,” he said. “Shall we take care of this one as well? She hardly has good taste in men.”

Klaus almost laughed. Elijah and Vincent had been butting heads for years in New Orleans, but for once, Klaus was pleased with the man Rebekah had chosen.

Without thinking, Niklaus brushed his fingers against Elijah’s forearm as if to sooth his brother’s temper. Warmth spread from Klaus’ fingertips, and Elijah seemed to drift into a stubborn relaxation.

“Brother, our sister deserves happiness,” said Niklaus, “Not to mention, I promised Vincent that no harm would come to him.”

Elijah closed his eyes briefly as the pleasant tingling of Niklaus’ touch made him forget his bitter feud with the male witch. Something in his brother was changing for the better. Perhaps it was Vincent’s good influence. If that was the case, Elijah owed Vincent a great debt for more than just saving Niklaus’ physical form.

“Kindness suits you, Niklaus,” mumbled Elijah as he caught Niklaus hand and held it against his cheek.

Taken aback by the compliment, Klaus scoffed before Elijah embraced him. Nicklaus didn’t know what to do or say as he slowly wrapped his arms around Elijah in return. There was something surreal about meeting Elijah’s expectations for the first time in centuries.

“This is almost over, I promise,” mumbled Elijah into Niklaus shoulder, and for a moment, Niklaus believed him.

~~~

A few uneventful nights passed in the manor, and Elijah decided to go an expedition to search for rumors of Mikael and Marcel in the city. Despite the good luck with the channeling spell, they still desperately needed a clue that could lead them closer to destroying the talisman.

This was compounded by Elijah’s drive to prove himself as an older brother, and so he wracked his brain from places that Mikael might haunt. Over the years, Mikael had developed a taste for high society much like the rest of the family. This made it easy for Elijah to put himself in his father’s shoes. And so, tonight, Elijah was visiting the most elite and restrictive society club in New Orleans. He was sure that his surname would gain him entry, and yet he still felt the need to don his finest attire for good luck. His suit would be his armor against the ill intentioned universe.

Preening in the boudoir vanity, Elijah wore a light grey, fifty thousand dollar suit. He adjusted his two hundred-dollar tie, and then added an opal tie bar. Elijah smoothed out the few hairs that were centimeters out of place. While he busied himself with this compulsive need for perfection, Elijah didn’t notice that Niklaus had stopped to lean in the doorway with a slightly smile on his face.

“The women of New Orleans will be ravenous tonight, brother,” remarked Niklaus.

Elijah looked over his shoulder briefly when he heard Nikalus’ voice, and then turned back to cast a dashing smile into the mirror.

“The women of New Orleans will have to wait,” he said as he drew a finger over one eyebrow, “There are more pressing matters at hand.”

“Ah, yes, hunting the monsters that go bump in the night,” said Klaus. “There’s no better work than that.”

This dark humor did not earn him a reply, and he watched in silence as Elijah obsessively sharpened the creases of his collar and lapel. Klaus frowned and crossed his arms. He was beginning to feel more and more like a ghost in the halls while Elijah went on about his life. They shared brief and fleeting moments, but it seemed that no one had time for him because everyone was busy trying to take care of him. The helplessness and loneliness only grew over the past few days and made his freedom seem somewhat bleaker.

He sighed and turned to leave, not sure of what he expected of Elijah while Elijah did everything for him already.

Then, Niklaus heard a whistle of quick movement behind him just before Elijah grabbed his wrist once more and spun him around. Anxiety at being manhandled dissipated quickly as the skin of his wrist pulsated with a pleasant heat. It was the sensation of some magical energy transfer. The day had been full of these little touches, but neither man was entirely sure of how to act while the transfer took place. And so, there was only silence – painful, vulnerable silence.

Klaus pulled his arm away and turned to leave.

“Be safe tonight,” he said over his shoulder.

Elijah opened his mouth as if to speak, feeling a similar, inexplicable pain. There were so many things left unsaid, and so many emotions left unexplored. He never wanted to leave his brother alone ever again, but he would hate himself if couldn’t avenge Niklaus. And so, Elijah simply murmured a vague reply and left to hunt those monsters that went bump in the night.

~~~

Out on the town, hours passed as Elijah mingled with old money socialites and wannabe heirs. There were no hints of Marcel or Mikael whatsoever – only rich men and women with too much time on their hands. Elijah was beginning to fear that these men had left the city and would be impossible to track. Elijah grimaced. He would be damned if they got away and were able to siphon Niklaus for the rest of their lives. 

“Another brandy,” said Elijah as he returned to the bar for a seventh time that evening. “Make that a triple.”

At least he could find comfort in the dampening of his senses and the numbing of his guilt. But as he drowned his sorrows in too many drinks, Elijah could not dispel his loneliness. He felt distant from Niklaus. He had not truly known Hayley in years. His pain and his drunkenness drove him to find comfort in somebody else – anybody else. Elijah scoured the room and searched for a pretty face. Without thinking, his legs took him across the room to a tall and lanky brunette that reminded him vaguely of a lover he had met long ago.

“I’m sure I’m not the first man to approach you tonight,” he said with an automatic smile and a slight slur in his words.

She looked up at him with doe brown eyes and blinked twice before returning his smile.

“You’re the fourth, but that’s my lucky number,” she said.

“I’m more of a believer in fate,” he replied.

“When an inner situation is not made conscious, it appears outside as fate,” she quoted with a flip of her hair. “Coincidence seems more likely.”

“Ah, straight from the writings of Carl Jung,” said Elijah, happy that the conversation was as intelligent as it was charming.

“I have a few more where that came from if you’re into the musings of a wannabe psychiatrist in med school,” she said.

Elijah nodded and stepped forward to brush his hand through her hair. A brazen move given the fact that they had only met mere minutes ago, but his good looks had always afforded him these moments over the years.

“Would you be more interested in positive or negative reinforcement then?” she whispered and closed the gap between them.

Elijah grinned and let his imagination go wild.

“Come home with me,” he whispered, careful not to compel her, and careful not to let his desperation for physical contact and comfort scare her away.

“I don’t often go home with men I just met.” she purred and traced his lapel, “It’s not in my nature, no matter how handsome.”

“Do you want me?” he asked softly, and she nodded. “Then what desire can be contrary to nature since it was given to man by nature itself?”

She laughed suddenly as she recognized the quote, “Foucault is a low blow. How can I argue with one of the great minds of philosophy?”

He grinned and downed his thirteenth brandy.

“Right this way,” he said and gestured for her to lead the way to the exit. He stumbled a few times behind her as the room started to spin away from him. Elijah was grateful for the fresh air once they reached the sidewalk.

“You never told me your name,” said the woman as they left the venue and waited for a valet to fetch his Aston Martin. 

“Elijah,” he muttered as he closed his eyes against his suffocating drunkenness. He could feel his respiratory system slowing down. “And yours?” 

“A pleasure to officially meet you, Elijah Mikaelson,” she said as the valet returned. “My name is Clara.”

He nodded and fell back against the brick wall, not noticing that he never told her his last name.

“You can drive,” said Elijah as he gestured for the valet to hand her the keys. Elijah slumped into the passenger’s seat and never quite remembered that drive home.

She gladly accepted and drove swiftly to the infamous Mikaelson Manor without direction. All the while, Elijah’s hand slowly crept up her thigh.

“N’klau…” slurred Elijah as they parked, which luckily sounded as if he were struggling to say this woman’s name.

“Clara,” she reminded him as she guided his hand further up her leg.

Elijah pulled her forward into a kiss. She was reasonably skilled, and so Elijah half pulled, half carried Clara through the courtyard and up a staircase. Elijah stopped in the hallway outside his bedroom and stared her down in the darkness.

“Do you want this?” he asked as he kissed her neck and unzipped her dress.

Clara’s pulse quickened and Elijah started to kiss along her jaw. He needed the comfort of a woman in his bed. He needed her to say yes, to agree to take away his pain for one night.

“Yes,” she breathed and he kissed her deeply. Without stopping, he opened his bedroom door, hoisted her up to straddle his waist, and carried her inside.

Just as Clara began to undo Elijah’s tie, the lights in the bedroom turned on.

“Bad idea,” said a voice from the other side of the room, “you have no idea how long my brother spent fixing that damn tie.”

Elijah and Clara froze, both flushed from arousal and embarrassment. Elijah set Clara down without grace and blinked twice to be sure that he wasn’t drunkenly hallucinating his brother in his bed.

Niklaus sat up against the headboard with a tattered book in hand, and with tortoise shell reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He had a curious expression on his face as he flipped through the pages of his Stephen King novel, ignoring the rightful owner of the bed as he searched for something in those pages.

Elijah couldn’t find the right words to describe the unease in his stomach.

Breaking the silence, Niklaus flipped to another page of The Stand and read aloud, “I am afraid, but I have been afraid before. All he can take from me is what I would have to give up someday anyhow – my life. I will not let him make me less than I am, if I can possibly help it.”

Then, Niklaus then raised his left hand and let his sleeve slip down to his elbow. Black desiccation was creeping down Niklaus’ wrist and the sight made Elijah’s heart stop. Forgetting Clara, Elijah moved quickly to kneel at the edge of the bed. Niklaus closed the book and finally looked at Elijah with pained eyes.

“I thought I would wait for you here,” he explained.

Panic and concern suddenly made Elijah feel four drinks more sober.

“How could the desiccation return so quickly?” muttered Elijah as he examined his brother’s arm. A wave of warmth spread over Klaus’ skin and the desiccation receded.

“It started as soon as you left,” said Niklaus gently, and Elijah frowned deeply. “I couldn’t sleep. I hope you don’t mind.”

Elijah shook his head as his thoughts raced.

“It must hurt,” mused Elijah, “And you must be tired. Stay in my bed tonight.”

Klaus exhaled deeply, happy to be rid of the dry and aching sensation in his hand.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” said Klaus as he motioned to the girl forgotten in the corner of the room.

Elijah turned to see Clara looking alarmed while she held up her unzipped dress with crossed arms. “Shouldn’t he go to the hospital? That looks like sepsis,” she said.

Elijah rose to his feet and approached Clara with such intensity that she squeaked and fell back against the wall. He stared into her eyes, and his pupils dilated as he compelled her, “Forget what you’ve seen and heard. Forget me. Now go and never come back.”

Clara left quickly, and Klaus whistled.

“Harsh,” he said.

Elijah shrugged grumpily as he began to undress and hang his expensive clothing. He teetered briefly as he struggled to remove his slacks.

“Do women enjoy your blunt nature, or do you put more effort into charming them?” asked Niklaus dryly.

Elijah had stripped down to his boxer briefs and looked over his shoulder at Niklaus as he said, “trust me, you would know if I were courting you.”

Niklaus scoffed as his heart skipped a beat.

“Careful Elijah, you may give someone the wrong idea,” said Niklaus as he tried to focus on his book. 

Elijah simply shrugged with a boyish grin as he slipped out of his underwear and into a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. 

“I have fantastic ideas,” he muttered to himself.

“What’s that?” asked Niklaus as he looked up just in time to watch his brother nearly topple into the dresser. 

“Careful, Elijah, that’s an antique,” he said just before Elijah knocked his knee into the coffee table while putting away his cuff links. “By the gods, I haven’t seen you this inebriated in centuries.”

Elijah turned around, and Niklaus found himself staring at Elijah’s pale, marble-like abs. He felt a twinge of jealousy, having withered away in the past months, along with another twinge of something unfamiliar in his stomach. He looked away as he felt heat in his cheeks.

“Shy?” Elijah asked.

The jest made Niklaus flush fully now. 

“You’re a peculiar drunk,” countered Niklaus but Elijah ignored this comment.

“I apologize for not being here for you sooner,” said Elijah as his drunkenness turned back into sadness and desolation. He waited to climb into bed with Niklaus. “I should have known better than to leave in the first place.”

Niklaus crossed his arms and looked away, feeling vaguely vulnerable sharing a bed with another man so soon after Marcel had – he didn’t want to think about it. 

“Your life shouldn’t revolve around me,” muttered Niklaus for the first time in his life.

“Perhaps I prefer that it does,” said Elijah.

Eternally perplexed by Elijah’s unwavering devotion, Niklaus gestured for Elijah to join him.

“And I apologize for ruining your evening,” added Niklaus as Elijah settled into bed. “She was stunning.” 

“Perhaps I prefer my evenings this way instead,” said Elijah as he reached his fingertips to rest on Niklaus’ forearm. This would keep the desiccation at bay.

Silence stretched on as Elijah closed his eyes and began to drift into a half-sleep.

“I apologize for making your life so difficult,” whispered Niklaus.

Klaus sighed deeply as he settled into the bed and tried to fall asleep as well. Anxiety fluttered over his skin as traumatic memories burrowed through his nerves. He could still feel the weight on his back and the pain in his core. The only physical reprieve were Elijah’s fingertips on his arm. After thirty minutes of restless shifting and jitters, Niklaus caved into his needs. He rolled onto his side and nestled backwards into Elijah’s chest so that he was somewhat spooned by Elijah.

Bliss spread through his entire body, and for the first time in months, Niklaus was at peace.


	9. Vestige

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Nine: Vestige
> 
> /’vestij/
> 
> Noun: A surviving trace of something that once was

An unearthly wind drifted through the cellar as Freya chanted under her breath. Dust whirled around her until the energy suddenly imploded inwards. A dust cloud enveloped Freya as she coughed violently.

Freya slammed her grimoire shut and cursed as she held her head in her hands. She had been working on breaking the siphoning for days. Even though she had released Niklaus from the sigil, it wasn’t enough. Her guilt was destroying her – evident by the hollows under her eyes and the wooziness of low blood sugar whenever she stood up or turned too quickly.

“Come on Freya, think,” she muttered to herself as she pulled at her hair. She had designed the spell as unbreakable as a curse, and yet Dahlia had figured out a way to escape the siphoning. Her aunt hadn’t killed the warlocks who drained her magic, nor did she manage to steal and break the talisman. Without magic, Freya could only assume that Dahlia had the help of another witch to set her free from the spell.

Freya scowled and thumped her fist on the table. As much as she regretted that evil act, she more so regretted the fact that Dahlia had evaded her vengeance within just one year. It had been four hundred years, and yet Freya still hated this woman with all of her heart. She saw her beloved in her mind’s eye and felt the illusion of gentle kicks in her stomach. 

Rage and grief blinded her as she stood up, picked up her wooden stool, and slammed it against the stone basement walls until the legs splinted apart and fell to the ground. Panting as her heart raced, Freya gathered her grimoire and made her way back upstairs to her bedroom. She couldn’t focus anymore, and her blurry vision told her that she needed to rest for a few more hours.

As Freya opened her bedroom door, she felt a familiar presence.

“Kol?” she called as the door swung open. 

There was no answer, but her heart nearly stopped when she saw that her brother was sitting on the floor with all of her journals open and strew on the floor. Freya could hardly breath.

“How did you get those?” she whispered. 

Her journals had been protected by her strongest spell work, but he didn’t answer.

“My dear sister,” he said with dark and shadowed eyes, “who knew you had it in you?”

Thoughts racing, she didn’t reply.

“Well, I knew,” he said through gritted teeth, “After what you did to Davina, I knew what you were.”

Kol then stood and held up the journal that had been in his lap. He held up the page that contained Freya’s original siphoning spellwork, with his finger tapping against the rough sketch of the fertility talisman. 

Her mouth was dry with fear, and all the blood had drained from her face. Her siblings couldn’t find out that she had done something so awful. That she had been the root of Niklaus’ tragedy.

“How?” she asked again, desperate to make sense of this invasion of privacy. “I protected those books…”

“Magic,” said Kol. Then – with smug, widening smirk – he pulled the faintly glowing talisman out from under his shirt. Kol swung the talisman in front of him briefly before tucking it away again. 

Freya gasped in disbelief.

“Is that,” she started.

“The talisman that’s draining our brother’s power?” he asked nonchalantly, “Yes, it is.”

Freya shook her head, positive that she was hallucinating due to lack of sleep.

“Give that to me,” she ordered as she stepped forward to take the talisman, “I need to destroy it immediately.”

“Ah, ah, ah dear sister,” said Kol with a lilt in his voice as he sidestepped her advances. “You’ll do no such thing. I’m still playing.”

Freya grabbed for the talisman again and Kol shoved her backwards against the door. She rubbed her head and blinked stars out of her eyes. Kol gathered all of her journals into his arms with a flick of his wrist. He had a glint in his eyes, thoroughly enjoying the ability to do magic even in his vampire state. 

He tsked at her and said, “you know, I knew you fell into a moral grey area, but what you did to our Aunt Dahila…” Kol sucked his teeth and whistled. “That was next level fucked up, Freya.”

Freya frowned and tilted her head. She didn’t understand why Kol was acting the way he was.

“That was a long time ago,” said Freya hesitantly, unsure of how much he knew, but increasingly positive that Kol wasn’t on their side.

Feeling there was no other option, Freya raised her hands and prepared to give Kol the worst aneurysms of his life, but Kol chanted under his breath and a magical barrier glimmered into existence between them. Freya’s magic couldn’t penetrate the shield. She scowled and Kol laughed gleefully five feet away – untouchable.

Kol leaned against the bedside table and relaxed as he responded.

“A long time ago?” he muttered. His carefree disposition vanished and his mouth was set in a hard, disapproving line.

Freya nodded. “I’ve changed,” she said and Kol laughed sharply. The sound bit into Freya’s heart.

“Time cannot forgive you for having your aunt raped by an entire coven of warlocks,” said Kol. “Nor can you be forgiven for what you did to Davina.”

Freya felt a chill run down her spine. Kol definitely wasn’t on their side anymore.

“You disgust me,” he spat and the saliva dripped down the transparent shield between them.

“You’re no better if you use that talisman,” said Freya. “You read my journals. You must have spoken with Mikael or Marcel. How can you work with the man who – who did that to your brother?”

Kol looked down at the ground and squeezed his eyes shut as if to block out her voice. 

“Shut up,” he whispered before turning his back on Freya so that she couldn’t see the conflict on his face. 

“You berate me and throw stones from your glass house,” she said, “All the while, you’re benefiting from the aftermath of your brother’s rape and torture.”

“Half-brother,” he said darkly, and Freya knew that she couldn’t talk him out of this. “Always and forever never included me or the people I loved. And I didn’t do this – so shut the fuck up and don’t pretend that we’re equals here.”

“Listen to me Kol, whatever you’re doing with that talisman almost killed him,” she said angrily, but he didn’t reply as he crossed his arms. “You can help stop this right now. If this is about lashing out because you’re still grieving – I understand – but Klaus didn’t do anything. What happened to Davina was my fault and my idea – make me suffer instead.”

“Do not say her name, you foul bitch,” shouted Kol suddenly, responding only to his pain and Freya’s betrayal.

Freya fell back from the intensity of his hatred.

Kol blurred forward to the edge of the magical barrier between them. A deep scowl made his handsome features demonic, and Freya was positive that he would rip her throat out if given the chance. And to be honest, despite her magical abilities, she wasn’t sure that she could take him while he was using the siphoning talisman. 

“I came here looking for mother’s grimoire, but I found your nasty little secrets instead,” he said with a snarl. “I suppose it’s fortunate, because now we can work out a deal.”

Freya went ashen.

“You help me bring back Davina with this siphoning talisman, and I won’t tell our siblings how this is all your fault,” he said as the ghost of a smug smirk returned to his lips. “They’ll hate you, you know. They’ll probably kill you – or worse.”

Freya swallowed rapidly. Kol was right, but something wasn’t quite adding up.

“Why would Mikael let you use that talisman?” she asked.

Kol snorted, “he made another one when you protected Klaus with that sigil.”

Freya felt tears well up in her eyes again. How many other people would suffer because of her?

“Okay then,” she whispered, “I’ll help you bring her back – but promise me that we’ll destroy that talisman and avenge Niklaus.”

Kol laughed and shrugged.

“You’re not in a position to bargain, sister, but we’ll see,” he said.

With that, Kol jumped from her window with her journals under his arm, and Freya was left to collapse and cry in her bed.

~

Far from sober, Elijah awoke in the middle of the night to find Niklaus snuggled in his arms. His heart skipped a beat, and he wondered if this was okay. But, in the haze of the moonlight, nothing seemed real and that made everything feel right. He would hold on to this moment just a while longer. Elijah leaned over to check Niklaus face for desiccation. There were no dark veins, but he still felt breathless. Elijah had never see such a peaceful expression on his brother’s face, and in that moment, Elijah vowed to see that expression when Niklaus was awake as well. 

“Sweet dreams, hjertet mitt,” he whispered into the moonlight, knowing the words would be taken far away.

Elijah nuzzled his nose forward into Niklaus’ curls, breathing in the smell of Norwegian spruce trees. Memories of lazy days walking along the fjords with Niklaus drifted through his mind as he slowly fell back to sleep. It seemed that nothing could go wrong.

~

Hours later, morning sunbeams crept through the windows and broke the illusion of moonlit peace. The harsh light made Niklaus open his eyes, and a familiar sensation made him freeze. Heavy arms weighed down his rib cage and made it hard to breathe. An intrusive, pulsating hardness was pressed against his pajama bottoms. His eyes wide and his skin prickled. Logic told him that every man experienced morning erections. Trauma told him that he was in danger, but he couldn’t make himself move. 

Within a few moments, the sunlight woke Elijah as well.

“Good morning,” said Elijah groggily, still half-asleep. Instinctively interested in the warm body in his arms, but drifting back to sleep, Elijah pulled Niklaus closer and tilted his hips forward and up against Niklaus’ tailbone.

Klaus jerked forward in surprise and tried to gently wriggle away, but Elijah had a stone grip in his sleep. The squirming made Elijah harder, and Klaus blanched when he felt an aching warmth start building in his loins as well. This unwelcome arousal dampened his fear and he stopped trying to get away.

Suddenly, Niklaus felt the need to feel Elijah’s lips on the back of his neck. He wondered how soft they were, and what they could do. He wanted to feel Elijah’s teeth drifting over his skin, penetrating him and taking his blood. Images of undressing slowly and exploring each other’s bodies drifted through his mind, but they soon felt stale and un-relatable. He couldn’t connect to the gentle caresses. He wanted Elijah, but not like that, not as if they had taken each other as loves. No, his imagination took a dark turn towards masochism.  
Brutal cravings flooded his body until he could almost feel Elijah’s hand wrapped around his throat. He pictured Elijah pinning open his legs with his knees and ripping away his pajama bottoms. Niklaus wanted the warmth of Elijah’s body holding him down. He wanted Elijah to use his body and fuck him raw until he erased every last vestige of Marcellus and their Father. He wanted Elijah to hurt him until the pain left him numb, empty, and new.

These violent fantasies made his erection harden until tears were streaming over his nose and down his temple. He bit his lower lip until he drew blood and trembled in Elijah’s arms. As badly as he wanted these fantasies to become reality, they revolted him. The intrusive thoughts made him sick, and he didn’t understand them. Had a lifetime of reoccurring abuse finally broken him and damaged his mind beyond repair? How else could he explain wanting Elijah to hurt him in the same ways that he had been hurt so many times before? His self-loathing and disgust grew until he wanted to rip his own skin off. 

Then, without regard for his brother’s peaceful sleep, Niklaus shoved Elijah away and tumbled out of bed. He stumbled a few paces until he could slouch down against the far wall and sink into the floorboards.

Elijah woke with a start and his chest felt cold without Niklaus in his arms. As he came too, this absence made him inexplicably sad. Elijah blinked the sleep from his eyes and searched the room until he saw his brother hunched over and nearly pulling his own hair out in the corner of the room.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, but Niklaus just shook his head.

“I can’t…” he started and stopped. He couldn’t look at his brother. He couldn’t taint the image of Elijah while feeling these painfully intrusive desires. There were so many reasons why this wasn’t right. Elijah was his half-brother and these masochistic fantasies felt like an invitation for abuse – as if he had wanted what Mikael and Marcellus had done – as if he had asked for that pain and violation. He felt dirty inside and out.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before the right words came to him. There were no right words, but he knew what he needed now, because he couldn’t live like this.

He needed to die.

This realization steadied him. He inhaled and exhaled deeply and slowly. His self-hatred and disgust was replaced by a welcome hollowness. The aching erection in his pajama pants softened as violent images of Elijah taking him against the wall were replaced by graphic images of his own lifeblood spilling out of his open heart. He could only imagine how good it would feel for his heart to slowly stop beating as his body was emptied of everything that kept him tied to this hellish existence.

Finally, Niklaus looked up with softened eyes, and Elijah almost smiled. Niklaus’ expression was as peaceful as if he had been sleeping. 

“You can talk to me,” said Elijah gently.

Niklaus looked away. He couldn’t lie while he looked straight into Elijah’s kind soul.

“I’ve been having nightmares lately,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Elijah nodded and said, “you’ve been through so much. There’s no shame in that.”

“I know but...” he paused, wondering if he could really go through with this. 

He could.

“I would feel safer if I had the white oak with me,” said Niklaus with finality.

The room was silent as Elijah processed this request. The siblings had agreed to never give Niklaus access to the white oak ever again. He was volatile at best and often untrustworthy, but Elijah had faith that his brother was different now.

“Of course,” said Elijah; he would do anything that would ease his brother’s suffering and make him feel safe again. 

Then, Elijah disappeared in a blur of motion. When he returned, he dropped the object into his brother’s shaking palm without a second thought. Niklaus rolled the white oak bullet between his fingers. He contemplated this small, innocent looking thing. It had once terrified him, and yet now he welcomed it like an old friend. It promised him peace.

“Thank you,” whispered Niklaus as he avoided looking back up at Elijah. He couldn’t look into Elijah’s noble brown eyes and imagine the anguish that he was about to create.

“You are safe with me,” insisted Elijah.

Klaus didn’t react. It was the fact that he didn’t want to feel safe with Elijah that was killing him. 

He squeezed the white oak in his fist and held it against his heart. 

“Do you want to come back to bed?” asked Elijah gently.

Klaus shook his head slightly as he stood up and moved towards the door without making eye contact. 

“I just need to take a walk and get some fresh air,” he said as he squeezed the doorknob. “I don’t want you to worry about me anymore. I’ll be okay. Thank you for everything, Elijah.”

Niklaus looked back once to see nobility and kindness embodied in his brother. He waited to watch the lines on Elijah’s face relax before he could look away and cherish that last image.

“I am sorry, really,” he said over his shoulder.

“You don’t need to apologize,” said Elijah.

But he did, and then he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for another angsty chapter~


End file.
